


american broken promises

by queereffigy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dubious Morality, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, I promise this has good things in it too, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, In general this isn't a super happy story, Long, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slow Burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queereffigy/pseuds/queereffigy
Summary: Two codependent queer teenagers, both homeless for their own tragic reasons, end up banding together and re-writing the things they know about family and home. Inadvertently, they create something like a group home where homeless youth come and go as months slide by. Even with that being a lot to manage, Henri and Julian cannot help their bond that won't stop growing stronger, and eventually they must learn to face their past and the idea of their future together, or else give up somewhere along the way.No one wants to hear a story about getting better until it's finished, and someone's on TV talking about their struggles and their success. There is no stardom in the house at the very end of Brackley Street, but there are friends, loyalty, warm food, and beds available for those in need.There is Henri, putting out every fire he can find before it burns everything to the ground, and there is Julian, trusting him with every single spark.---Please observe content warnings, as this is a work with some heavy themes. Thank you!
Relationships: Henri Thibault/Julian Floros
Kudos: 5





	1. i expect you won't cry

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, anyone reading this! This is a shorter introductory chapter for now, more longer pieces to come!
> 
> CW for this chapter: underage prostitution/rape (implied, not porn, not smut), and semi-graphic violence following the first.
> 
> As it stands, for context, the story begins when Julian is fourteen and Henri is seventeen. As you see in the tags, they do eventually get together, but not until they are both adults. I want to stress this isn't a story where underage shit will be prevalent/romanticized/used as a kink. Thank you, and please enjoy!

The house he was in was decrepit, the smell of stale cigarettes and piss wafted up to him, and mingled with the scent of cologne that might be permanently burned into his nose. There was graffiti all over the walls, insignia’s for bands long since broken up and moved on, and there was ragged shag carpeting barely hanging onto the stairs, continuing into the upstairs living room. Henri was shoved back in the stairwell, back pressed against the wall, with a beer in one hand and some random man’s thigh pressed between his legs. The music playing from somewhere upstairs was shaking the walls and making his bones vibrate. 

He wasn’t particularly fond of parties. However, he was fond of the opportunities that could be found at parties. He’d made at least five new contacts, and it was possible he could get a lead on another sofa to sleep on if he played his cards right. The man currently between his legs pressed closer trailing sloppy kisses down his neck. His stomach rolled with nausea at the string of saliva he could feel pulling off his skin. It’s just a game, Henri. He let out a keening moan and rolled his hips, biting his lip, and looked up at the dude from under his lashes, “Wanna find a room?” If he can get this guy in a room, that couch is basically a sealed deal. He could already feel the sweet kiss of a warm comfortable sleep on his eyelids. 

He was grabbed by the wrist and tugged upstairs into the mess of people, for a minute he thought he might get lost in the crowd, and he could feel the tightness in his chest loosen a little, a frisson of relief rocketing its way through his body. But that would mean no couch to sleep on, no warmth for the night, and Henri’s feelings were fighting inside himself. It didn’t matter, his wrist stays locked firmly in hand, and he found himself facing a bedroom door. As a certain sickness and shame mounted within him, he swallowed his pride, and turned the knob.

First and foremost, it was fucking occupied, and he almost turned his back, quick to leave them to their business. But he did a double take as the realization hit him like a train- one figure was much too small for this bullshit, small as he had been when he’d first run away from home. He could remember those first few months, the terror of the unknown and the desperation for any sort of relief. His head was going fuzzy and it felt like his limbs weren’t quite in his control. His fists balled up on their own accord and he lurched forward on a half step. The hand on his wrist was tugging and insistently trying to pull him back the way he came, and he snatched his arm toward himself and waved the dude off without thinking. His plans for the night had changed. 

He pushed his golden opportunity out the door, and slammed it in his face for good measure. Without thought, he was moving on autopilot and he shoved the fully grown man by the shoulders. Henri caught him squarely with his palms, and the dude was thrown backwards and off kilter, his arms windmilled trying to right himself. 

“Hey fuckface, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Not his most eloquent, admittedly, but Henri swung, and the thud of his fist connecting with that man's face made up for it. A spray of blood spattered across Henri’s face and shirt, and he didn’t stop, he can’t. His lips were pulled back in an approximation of a smile, but it’s closer to just baring teeth, with all his rage behind it. That could have been him, that _was_ him. 

Henri toppled him with the punch, and he fell onto the man with the momentum. Nails were digging into his upper arms but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel a thing. The man’s wild face was wavering in front of him, and it looked like he was shouting but Henri couldn’t hear it, there was too much sound in his head. He grappled the man, dropped a bony elbow into his solar plexus, watched as he grunted and gasped in pain. Sick satisfaction burst hot and bright in his chest as he saw the man's chest stagger, desperately trying to take in air. 

He could leave now, some part of him knew the fight was over. But he didn’t. His knuckles screamed out for reprieve, it felt like each one had popped out of place, pushed past their limit. The face in front of him was wavering, he could hardly see it for the blood or maybe the way it could have been a dozen of his own _‘dates’_ over the years. Something sick and primal in him wanted this man left utterly unrecognizable. 

The man had long since stopped fighting back by the time Henri stumbled off of him, and he could not find it in him to care. For a moment, Henri’s world tilted and the chest in front of him didn’t move, it was so fucking _still,_ he thought he might have killed him. It wasn’t relief that he felt when he saw the man’s ribcage expand, but it’s something like it. The kid huddled in the room was too far gone to notice when Henri spat on the sack of shit. 

Let the cops find him, this was worth it. 

He gentled himself with deep breaths before approaching the kid, trying to pull himself back into a human, trying to put all of that feeling away. Henri could not shake the thought that this might be all he was under his skin. He breathed deeply in, and released everything in a controlled exhale as he plucked his way across the room and dropped into a crouch in front of the kid. 

He was a kid, wasn't he? Naturally slight, probably, but bone thin now and pinched looking. Maybe he was sick, or maybe homeless too, and suffering from it. (Of course he was homeless, why else would he be doing this?) His hair was long and fanned away from his face, but most importantly, his eyes were completely vacant. “Hey dude, my name’s Henri, m’gonna take you out of here okay?” 

The kid nodded his head a little, movements jerky, and let Henri guide him out through the party with a hand between his shoulder blades. They got to Henri's car after crossing the trashed lawn and he shifted awkwardly, "So I'm living in here for now, but that'll turn around soon, okay?" Henri smiled, but he didn’t feel it reach his chest or his eyes, "I'll take care of you for now," He didn’t know how, but it was too late for that now. You couldn’t pull someone from the fire and then leave them to smolder on their own.

The kid looked from him to the car, and Henri noticed the wallet clutched in his fist. He’d taken it off the guy, somewhere in the tussle. Smart. He watched as the kid got in the car and sat there rubbing his thighs nervously, and Henri felt it in his chest, knew that feeling etched into his bones. For a moment, he lingered outside the door and looked back at the still-raging party behind them before getting into the car and starting it. “What’s your name?” He asked.

It took the kid a few minutes to respond, his eyes unfocused and hazy. “Julian,” He rasped. Henri felt a spasm in his throat, somewhere, the phantom touch that he thought he might not ever shake. He set his jaw, though, and looked at Julian in the rear-view for just a second and thought, _at least I’m not alone._ In a snap, he banned the selfishness from his mind, but he couldn’t remove it from his chest. He clutched the steering wheel tightly instead, so the pain in his fists would outweigh his thoughts.


	2. coffee eyes / blank stares / late night affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys' bond grows and Henri's dedication cements itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna spam-post chapters, alright? Alright! 
> 
> CW: General no good homelessness, allusions to prostitution, allusions to detoxing.
> 
> Here we see Julian and Henri starting to get to know each other a little more and how their trust immediately builds! I hope y'all enjoy it.

Early October draped the town in snow and ice, and Henri’s car was no exception. Julian spent most of those days in the backseat, sniffling, shaking from the cold and being wrapped in whatever Henri had. He’d leave for long periods of time, having asked Julian to stay, but even he wasn’t sure if the frost-covered windows held anything outside of them for him. He trembled, vomited out the door when he needed to, and laid sweating and freezing on his side until Henri returned and they found another place to park. 

Some days, Henri dragged him out of the car to get food and he’d watch people move around them and disintegrate, black worms at the edge of his vision, heart beating too quickly to be able to manage anymore. He’d focus as much as possible on Henri only, watching his shoulders cloaked in his patched vest as he walked along confidently, but always looking, always checking. They tramped through the snow until they found a diner- Mama Rempel’s- and Julian felt the heat begin to chip at the ice surrounding his chilly bones.

Henri knew the owner, he said, and it must be true because she greeted him with a big warm smile every time he came in. “Any prepaid meals?” Henri asked, leaning on the counter, Julian hovering by his side. 

“Now, now, you know we got lots. Who’s this, kiddo?” 

“Oh, this is Julian,” Henri replied easily, peeking over his shoulder, but Julian was watching the cooks in the back, big blurs speeding around, he couldn’t focus well on the sweet-seeming woman before him. He dug his fingernails into the counter instead. “He’s, uh… Quiet,” Henri added, but it sounded far away. Julian could smell food, good food, and his stomach _ached_ for it. 

Henri grabbed his arm gently and pulled him away to a table, and for a moment, Julian just watched him as he rolled up his sleeves and adjusted himself. His freckled arms were thicker than Julian’s, and much paler, colour having spread up from his fingers where he was coldest. “This place offers meal deals, you can buy one for someone in need, so normally there’s some available. Good food, too, but I try not to resort to it too much…” He picked at a scrape on his wrist absent-mindedly. 

Julian leaned into the seat, tiredness itching his eyes, and looked out the window as more snow began to fall. “Cold,” He murmured, the only word he could think of. 

“I know,” Henri replied, quietly. “I think I might be able to find us a place to stay tonight. Depends.” Julian could see the space between Henri’s eyebrows pulled together, tense, worried. There wasn’t much he could do. Julian sniffled wetly, and coughed even wetter, grasping at his chest for a moment when it felt like there was something trying to crawl its way out of him.

“Whoa, you okay? It’s alright,” Henri’s voice, forever calm, broke through the coughing fit and Julian tried to breathe normally again. He knew what being sick felt like, and he knew it was getting worse no matter how much he tried to warm up or hide it from Henri, who just kept looking at him with his brows tense. 

“Okay,” Julian wheezed out, and before he could say anything more, there was a hot plate of food delivered in front of him by a fairly chubby dark-skinned young man in an apron. 

“Thanks, Darren,” Henri said, gratefulness echoing every syllable, as he snatched up his cutlery. 

Julian for the better part of a few months hadn’t had anything to eat that didn’t come from a vending machine. This, before him, was a bowl of soup with three pieces of toast and some sausage and egg on a side plate. “Mama said to serve you up some extras from breakfast,” Darren was saying distantly, but Julian hardly heard, because he had grabbed his spoon and shoveled some soup into his mouth and savored the way it seared down his throat and into his stomach like eating molten lava. 

Darren had the good grace not to ask questions as he walked away, and Henri dug in too the moment they weren’t accompanied. Julian ate with fervor, enough that Henri tried to tell him to slow down or he might be sick, but he hardly heard the warning. He was so hungry. His whole body was aching, lungs collapsing, veins freezing over from the chill- Julian felt Henri’s warmer hand clasp his wrist and realized he was wheezing again, white-knuckling his spoon. “Hey Julian, just take a second, okay? The food isn’t going anywhere,” Julian tried to breathe steadier, and slowly relaxed his grip.

“I’m gonna find us a place to stay tonight,” Henri said, voice firmer about it now, like he had decided something. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” 

“Okay,” Julian mumbled before dipping his bread in his soup. But the worry wormed around in him anyway, unable to be tamed or banished by Henri's words.

\--

Julian peered out of the passenger seat window as Henri knocked on someone’s door, fingers tapping his thighs in anxious patterns. He knew the look, knew what was happening, he was pretty sure. He’d done it enough times himself. The streetlight only gave Julian so much he could see of Henri, but he knew he was anxious, knew he was planning his words. The windows of the house seemed dark, but they were whole, and when the door opened the man who answered made a face at Henri, until he kept talking. Julian knew the script. _We’re hungry, we’re sick, we’re desperate, we’ll do what you want if we can sleep on your couch._

Henri turned to wave him in a few moments later, and Julian got out of the car to follow him up the dying lawn into the house. It was mildewy and old, carpets stained, but it was much warmer than outdoors. The night seemed oppressive from the inside, like it was going to smash the glass, and Julian felt the itch of something coming on and reached out for Henri’s hand as they walked through the house, eventually into the bathroom. 

“Okay,” Henri turned to look at Julian, the muscles in his jaw jumping somewhat. Julian could almost see something trying to get out. “I need you to just wait for me in the living room, okay? Best to just get some sleep. I’m just gonna-” 

“I know,” Julian said weakly. His words were too slippery to catch, and he couldn’t manage to wrangle any more. Henri’s face went soft for a second, almost bitter, and sad. “Okay?” Julian tried.

“Yeah,” Henri murmured. He turned, opening a small cabinet on the wall and rooted through the bottles there, setting them down on the counter behind him as he tried to find what he was looking for. Julian took one when he wasn’t looking and stuffed it quickly into his pocket, and when Henri turned with a bottle of NyQuil in hand, he didn’t appear to have noticed. “Here,” Henri poured it with a gently shaking hand, and Julian swore for a moment all of him was shaking, moving out of place, falling apart in some way. His eyes stung from watching it until Henri was putting a cap full of NyQuil in his hand and Julian drank without hesitation. 

“Just go to the couch and lay down, okay?” Henri said, faux calm in his voice. Julian could hear anxiety scratching in there somewhere, a rodent in the walls. He nodded, though, he had little else to give. 

He left the bathroom and went to the couch while Henri walked someplace else, to do something else, and Julian curled up on his side and let the medicine and the dull sounds of infomericals lull him to sleep.


	3. who you are & who you want to be can't coexist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri approaches the right person and stumbles into a chance at a better life for him and Julian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya folks! More stuff! Yay! Spam posting! Woohoo!
> 
> CW: Prostitution, homelessness, allusions to death due to the aforementioned two, repressed trauma finally unleashed.

All Henri could hear, on repeat, was the sound of Julian’s hacking cough and wheezing breath. The kid was trying to hide it, but it was so obvious that he was sick. He slept with his head tucked under Henri’s chin, and Henri could hear every rattle when Julian breathed in. He was pretty sure that he would hear that rattle until the day he died. He just didn’t have the money for any prescription that a doctor could give them.

Once Julian fell asleep Henri shimmied out from under him, and draped his jacket over his shaking shoulders to add a layer of warmth against the winter chill trying to invade the car. He sucked in a breath as the cold washed over him, goosebumps already raising on his arms. For a moment, before walking away, he watched Julian curl into himself in the back seat, reaching up to hold Henri’s jacket in one hand. It hurt him to see, but he left after a few moments’ hesitation. He knew this was the only way he could help.

As he walked towards the seediest bar in town, he pulled on a persona like an overcoat. His nervous ticks were smoothed over, trembling hands forced still and the frown washed from his face. He purposely disheveled his hair, and pasted a smirk to his lips with seasoned practice. He forced his shoulders to hang loose, and his long strides transitioned into a flirtatious sway. He let his brain disconnect from the reality of his situation, at least until he was safely away, when he could feel things later. Right now, he needed to get Julian medicine. He couldn’t promise to take care of someone and fail them, and so he had to do whatever was in his power.

Choosing a _‘date’_ wasn't easy, but he had plenty of practice, and when he wasn’t sure he had contacts he could ask. Henri let his eyes dart from face to face, his brain working to judge who might be safe, and who might be interested. Who would pay the most. A middle aged man with a slightly balding head and barrel chest was making his way to the parking lot, no date on his arm, and looking delightfully tipsy. He seemed like a good place to start. A businessman, maybe, leaving the bar after a stressful day. Maybe he needed a little release.

Henri sauntered towards him, with a practiced faux confidence, and he let a hand brush down the mans bicep, “Hey, if you have a second, you really caught my attention.” He let his eyes rake over the man’s thick arms and thighs, but he didn’t really see them, he was gauging his reaction. “If you’re lonely, I don’t mind giving you a little company.” His soul was six feet out his body and to the left, but he watched himself bite his lip, practiced, _scripted._

The man’s face did something complex. For a moment, he was startled, but Henri watched him consider, watched his eyes dart back and forth to see if anyone was watching. _Yes._ His hand gripped Henri’s shoulder and started tugging him towards an alley, and as the red flags rippled around him, all Henri could think of was Julian. Julian in the backseat of his car shivering, coughing so hard he lost all his breath, Julian trying his best to finish food at Mama’s even though he felt too sick to eat. Dimly, he could tell his stomach was twisting with anxiety, but he let it.

He let his back hit the wall, too, and tilted his head back to bare his throat. His eyes were closed. Henri expected a hungry mouth, a rough hand, he expected to be grabbed, but instead the hands tightened around his shoulders and shook. His eyes came open against his will and he jerked back, suddenly very present and aware of the possible dangers. The man before him was red-faced now and shook him again, his mouth was moving, “How fuckin' old are you, kid?” His voice bled through as if Henri was underwater, but rapidly rising.

Henri shook his head to clear it and tried to figure out what the man wanted. If he was into the underage angle, that was easily doable, or if he wanted Henri to at least be eighteen he could definitely lie. “I’m uh, legal?” His brain was slow and his thoughts were moving like molasses. He wanted desperately to escape back into the hazy space where none of this mattered, where he wouldn’t really be here enough to feel or to remember.

“Bullshit,” The hands gripping Henri’s shoulders tightened and tugged, “How fuckin' old are you, don’t lie to me.” 

Henri squeezed his eyes shut this time, didn’t want to see this guy’s face when he heard the answer, didn’t want to see this playing out in front of him. “I’m seventeen,” He tried to tug himself out of the man’s grasp and escape towards the entrance of the alley, “Now let me go if you aren’t interested,” Henri heard the sharp inhale of breath, and squeezed his eyes tighter as shame ate away as his stomach. He couldn’t stand being in his own skin. 

“Fuck. No, I’m not letting you go, you’re just gonna saunter off and find someone else to fuckin’ pay you,” 

The earth fell away from his feet as fear careened up his spine. He struggled wildly, lashing out in blind panic. The hands never left his body but he needed them too. He was too close, too stuck, too far away from any help if this went badly. His traitorous lungs filled with too much oxygen and his head was light. It felt like he was rapidly crumbling into pieces, breaking off and launching into the stratosphere.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, you just can’t be doing this. It’s dangerous.” The anger that had been there was bleeding away from the voice, replaced with something softer. Henri opened his eyes, staring with a furrowed brow at the man before him. His round face was red, bushy beard working with the muscles in his jaw, brows pulled tight and eyes concerned. Eyes far away. Coming back to his body was a process, pulling all his pieces together, trying to think clearly or else he might not be able to get away if it came to it. Henri was floating back to himself, he could feel his fingertips first, drumming against the wall, his rapid heart in his chest, beating a bruise against his ribs. He took a breath and it was steadier.

“Look man, I know it’s dangerous, but I need to make money,” The words came out in a rush of air he’d been holding captive, his shoulders were tight when he shrugged, and the sharp sting of tears washed over his eyes. He wouldn’t let them fall. The hands turned gentle and squeezed his shoulders, and this time he didn’t flinch away. It was kind. It reminded him of Mama Rempel, who sometimes touched his cheek, and every time he tried not to lean into it.

“You got someone that you’re taking care of?” It was phrased as a question, but it wasn’t. A statement, an understanding, there was no other reason Henri would be here right now. There wasn’t a reason on this earth Henri would do this if it was just him, if Julian wasn’t riding on this, if Julian wasn’t gasping for air in the backseat of his car right now.

"He's real sick," Henri wriggled again, and this time the man let go. His voice had broken as he spoke and he felt like a raw nerve freezing in the cold December air. "Look, it's great that you care and all, but I still need to make money." He strode away as quickly as he could without running, feeling as though the man’s hands had never left him, like any hands had never left him.

Henri paused when the man's voice followed him to the mouth of the alley. "What is he gonna do when you just don't come back one day? Have you even fucking thought of that?" Henri spun around as anger ignited in him. He didn’t know, _he didn’t understand._

"I think about it every fucking day," He took a few steps forward, back towards the man who was approaching him again. The side of his fist hit the wall beside him and a bruise began to bloom immediately, lovely pain to ground him. "Right now I'm outta options, okay? So unless you have a magic solution for me, I'm out."

Henri paused, and he wasn’t sure why, maybe just to see the look on the man’s face turn sour with anger and cast him away. But it didn’t. He was calm, almost, maybe he was just far away. His eyes weren’t there, but the rest of him was, anxious fingers working at his keys and muscles of his jaw bouncing. “I’ve been there.” It was all he said, tone gravelly and distant. Henri felt a disconnect somewhere between himself and logic which told him to run now, before it was too late.

"I have a job for you, real work. I'll pay you above minimum if you shut your mouth about it." The look on his face is serious, and Henri weighed the offer, because it felt fake. Good opportunities were not for the poor, the homeless, the sick kids living in cars, or else Henri would have gotten a chance already. Or else there wouldn’t be so many people freezing to death on nights like this. "It's on a construction site, you can sweep up, and bring people shit. This world isn't going to give you a chance like this again, kid, you just gotta trust me." 

His expression could almost be desperate. It could almost be the same desperate thrum of Henri’s pulse in his ears, the same desperate hope wedging itself between logic and fear. “You gonna keep staring?” The man said, and he reached out a meaty hand.

It came down to this: what if he didn’t come back one night, and what if Julian never got better. "I won't let you down," Henri heard himself say it, and he reached out and gave him the firmest handshake he could muster. He forced his shoulders to square and stared back, finally able to make eye contact.

"I know you won't. Where are you sleeping tonight?" The bigger man was idly playing with his keys again, staring off somewhere over Henri’s shoulder, or through him. He was far away again.

"We're uh, staying in my car." Henri shrugged, and he wanted to be done answering questions, but his face was defiant. "It's the best we got, y'know?" This all felt fake, too fake to trust, too fateful. Fate, like death, was coming for them in a homeless camp somewhere or the back of his car. Fate was not kind to people like Henri. 

The man swore under his breath again. There was an acutely agitated expression that enveloped him, the jingle of keys in his fist, tendons working in the back of his hand. With frustrated finality, he jerkily pulled a key off his keyring and tossed it at Henri's chest. "Look, I have this house and it should have been condemned years ago, but it’s better than a fuckin’ car. I’ll get the heat and water on when I can. It's down on Brackley Street, at the very end. We’ll talk about rent later." Henri opened his mouth to protest, he thought, or to say anything at all- but the man was striding past him, one hand roughly grabbing his shoulder to pull him along. "You start on Monday. My numbers on the key tag, get in contact."

Henri was so dumbfounded that he just nodded, mind already swimming with confusion and distrust and an overwhelming sense of _maybe._ "Yes, sir." 

“What’s your name?” The man asked, just as they were about to part ways. 

“Henri,” He answered, teeth threatening to chatter with the cold. 

“I’m Richard,” Henri wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a tear rolling down from the corner of Richard’s eye. A rapid blink and it was gone, but it was something, said something about this man who then turned and began to march back towards his truck, leaving Henri in the parking lot with a key clutched in his fist. 

He did not stay a moment longer, instead, he turned and began to walk back toward the car as fast as he could. If he was lucky, if they were both really _fucking lucky,_ this would work. He would text one of his contacts, tell them where he was going, and hopefully they’d be able to spread the word if he never came back. The thought hammered in his heart, a tangible and more likely possibility than a human having extended him a chance at a normal life. 

When he returned to the car, Julian was shaking with coughs in the back seat, body spasming with the force of them. Henri could hear it through the crooked back window, listening to the cough that had woken him every night for the past month and he thought: _if there is a shred of a chance that it’s real, I have to try._

\--

Richard slammed the truck door shut behind himself and knew he probably shouldn’t drive. The alcohol swam in his bloodstream, and he wanted to blame it for his generosity, for the tears that threatened to burst from him, but he knew he couldn’t. That kid’s face, gaunt, skinny- it could have been him, thirty years ago, trudging through the snow and asking for favors. 

It had been him, thirty years ago. Rich didn’t like to think about thirty years ago, in fact, he made a point not to. He ignored the advice of every doctor and therapist he had since then and he went to the bar after work when the thoughts became particularly loud. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that he would run into the kid, seemed like life couldn’t get enough of digging its claws into him. He still remembered finding his brother, stiff and cold, in the tents by the tracks. He couldn’t escape it.

Kevin was younger by almost ten years, and he was sweet, when they went to bed together he told Richard that he didn’t have to be ruled by it anymore. That it was long ago, that he could do good things with himself now, that all the fucked up things he did to survive didn’t leave a mark on his soul, that he did his best, that his brother was not his fault. That he wasn’t unlovable. But Richard felt unlovable. A choked noise forced its way out of him and he leaned his forehead down onto the steering wheel as his body shook with sobs, for Henri, or maybe for himself, or maybe for the tents by the tracks with their ever-changing faces. 

Something had come undone when he saw Henri, with his face twisted into something lustful, looking at him like he could be a very lucky man if he paid the right price. Richard sobbed into his steering wheel before he managed to get out his phone and call Kevin, who was probably in his own apartment having a nice dinner or winding down for the night, who probably didn’t want to deal with Richard’s past anyway, who would leave him eventually when he didn’t change. He was old, pushing fifty years, crying wasn’t for men like him. 

But Kevin’s voice came through soothing, came through sweet, and Richard only cried more. Before he knew it, before he could hang up, he could hear Kevin grabbing his keys and leaving the house. He stayed on the phone the whole drive over, and when he opened the truck door, Richard almost fell into him, buried his face into the younger man’s neck and sobbed. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Kevin murmured, stubble brushing Richard’s cheek. “What happened, hon?”

“I met this kid,” Richard hiccuped. “I couldn’t- he looked just like-”

Kevin rubbed his back and listened, and he kept listening. He got in the truck and let Richard cry and spew stories and tell him terrible things, and at the very end of it all, he placed his warm hand on Richard’s cheek and said, “Don’t worry about what you did or didn’t do, I love you just the same,” He brushed under Richard’s eye with his thumb. “Think about what you’re doing to help that boy. This is what it means, Rich, to use what you have for good.” 

Richard leaned into him, and for once he let Kevin support him, let his warm hands gently rest on the most wounded parts of him. _Maybe,_ he thought, _I can at least save them._


	4. & we will repaint everyday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri and Julian's first few days in the Brackley House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anoootherrrr. Sorry the writing style/tenses/time passing isn't always super consistent, it will be much more consistent moving forward. It's always weird to start a project at first! 
> 
> CW: Allusions to childhood neglect/abuse, mental illness, etc.

Winter was passing slowly, crawling through, as if being dragged against its will. Julian and Henri, along with most of the homeless population in Redcove, were struggling to stay warm. They stood around fires that would soon be discovered and smothered by law enforcement, and they slept cramped in the back seat of Henri’s car, their breath coming in puffs, clinging to each other to stay warm. Julian slept fitfully, and Henri slept little, and Henri found them money, and Henri found them food, and Henri told Julian not to do anything he shouldn’t. That he would take care of it. Julian felt an uneasy itch in him everywhere every time Henri appeared with new bruises and knew that he wasn’t allowed to help.

The sickness he’d developed as the snow had begun to fall still stuck to his bones and lungs, fleshy hands grasping him and not letting go, and despite semi-regular meals, he’d been unable to completely stave it off. Henri bought cheap cough medicine when he could to provide relief, but it was obvious that Julian needed a doctor, and they likely wouldn’t be able to afford whatever they prescribed anyway. “S’okay,” He told Henri every time a coughing fit led to him shaking and retching, and every time Henri furrowed his brow and promised he would figure something out soon. Julian slept with his face pressed into Henri’s neck and Henri slept staring at the ceiling, in fact not sleeping at all, and trying to come up with a plan.

\--

It was the beginning of December when Julian awoke in the car, cold air rushing over him from Henri opening the door when he hadn’t even known he’d been gone. He sat up, aching just a little from the cramped room, or maybe from his lungs, or maybe from the spots on his arms where he had picked at, or perhaps just from everywhere. The sickness had been chipping away at him and being homeless was making it worse. “Okay?” He mumbled sleepily, feeling the cold digging into his bones. 

“Yeah! Yeah, real good actually. I got us a place to stay, permanently, at least for the foreseeable future.” Henri said, and Julian could see his teeth and eyes flashing in the low-light. He was grinning, excited, and now starting the car. The heat came on slowly, and Julian shifted into the front seat to get the full force of it. The car could not break on them, or they would surely die, and so turning it on for warmth was a commodity that they couldn’t always afford. 

“Really?” Julian’s voice was hoarse. He hadn’t been speaking much; they’d been sleeping in people’s houses as much as they could, which meant he was silent whenever they managed to. Mama’s had been an ever-helpful resource, hot food was the only thing staving off his illness, Henri said. 

“Yeah man, I don’t know what it’s like but I think we can go there now.” Henri was still grinning, but Julian saw his hands, antsy and trembling on the steering wheel. He leaned far back into the seat and fell through it for just a second, the whirling feeling of his gut twisting, into the earth and away before Henri hit a speedbump and he was back again, present but only barely. He peered out the window as they bumped along the snowy roads. “He said it was on Brackley street,” Henri muttered under his breath, eyes squinting to read the road sign.

He almost missed it, too, so Julian pointed it out and Henri slowly turned the car and followed down the road to the very end. Julian, for a moment, felt like he was going to be sick from the rocking, like he was going to fall out of himself somehow, and then Henri stopped the car and both of them looked out the front windows towards what was undoubtedly the Brackley street house.

It was at the very end of the road, thickly hidden by trees, and it was sagging under the weight of the snow and perhaps existence itself. A DEAD END sign hung before what could be hesitantly referred to as a front lawn, illuminated by Henri’s headlights. It was a box house, flat fronted, the windows were dark and gave nothing away about the interior. “Empty?” Julian asked. Henri nodded his answer, but he was already getting out of the car and using a flashlight he fished out of the glove compartment to light their way. Julian followed him numbly, and noted the give that the wooden steps had under his feet. It was definitely old, and incredibly dilapidated. As they entered, the door creaked, and the inside was almost entirely pitch-black and smelled like mildew. 

“Alright, it’s… Not great,” Henri said slowly. “But it’s a house.” 

Julian tried the light switch and dull orange fluorescents lit the interior: stained carpet in the living room, a couch that looked like it had certainly seen better days, stairs that creaked with every step, and one upstairs bedroom that had a broken window in it. It was warmer than the outdoors, however, and one room still had a mattress that looked dubious at best but fairly untouched. Julian felt the creeping sensation of being someplace else, like he’d stepped inside and the world had melted away behind him, he almost wanted to go outside again to test if it all was still there. He felt an itch working it’s way up his spine, the nervous flutter in his chest. 

“Well, I think this room is probably best,” Henri’s voice broke through Julian’s anxiety stupor and he saw the room clearer now. The window was closed, and the mattress was next to a small heating vent that he wasn’t sure was emitting anything at all. “The guy said he’s going to get heat and water going,” Henri was saying, standing by the mattress and looking at the walls before finally settling on Julian. His brows pulled together again, head canting only slightly, “You okay?” He inquired. 

Julian felt not okay. He did not think it mattered. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded once. “... Alright, let’s see if there’s anything left here.” Henri strode out of the room and Julian followed, he always followed. 

Turns out, there was not much left at all. Henri explained as they searched that he figured the guy who gave them the place had been upset, said he had been homeless once too, and Julian felt a disconnected kind of kinship with him through the walls. Someone who understood, someone who made it. Together, they searched cupboards and closets for anything of use and was only able to turn up a few moth-bitten blankets, but it was something, and anything was better than nothing. 

As they had for the past three or so months, Henri laid back and Julian curled up to his side, head rested on his chest, and Henri pulled the blankets over them. It felt so good to not be so cramped, Henri’s head wouldn’t have to rest on the door handle and Julian’s knees wouldn’t be jammed into the front seat. He was able to lay out fully, the mattress felt soft beneath him, and it was foreign but so good. Julian peered through his lashes at Henri’s calm face, who for once had fallen asleep first, and he tucked his hands close to his chest and shut his eyes too.

When they awoke the next morning, Henri was laid on his side, arm thrown over Julian, Julian’s face still buried in his chest, warm for once. Julian awoke slowly and found he never wanted to move. This was ten times more comfortable than the car and he was warm. He nuzzled just a little bit closer, head foggy from sleep, and felt Henri shift just a little. “Hey Julian,” He mumbled softly. “G’morning.”

“Mm,” Julian mumbled back. Henri untangled them, to his dismay, and sat up to look around the room now that daylight was peeking in through the blinds.

“We should move the stuff in from my car and get some food.” Henri commented, and Julian huffed in response. Through squinted eyes, he saw Henri’s head turn to look at him and one of his eyebrows raised. “I can go get food if you want to stay here?”

“No,” Julian mumbled, and he too sat up, the chill of the rest of the room reaching through his layers of hoodie.

“It’s okay if you want to stay,” Henri was getting up now, and the blinds cast snow-white light across him in slats, Julian felt fuzzy-headed all at once. It was swirling, or it was falling from the ceiling like snow, clinging to Henri until he was too bright, too much to look at, too overwhelming. Julian shut his eyes tight, willing them not to lie to him, and when he opened them again Henri was just gone.

Julian scrambled to his feet and looked out into the hall, and there he was, about to go down the stairs, as if nothing had happened. He followed after Henri, feeling anxious and unknowable, and out into the snowy town to look for food.

\--

With a house and a car, Henri was able to get a job. He told Julian it was going to be a good one, too, working on a construction site to sweep up until he was eighteen and could have a real job actually doing the constructing. The man who’d let them stay here had given him the job out of pity, he said, but he was going to work as hard as possible to keep it. Julian nodded to Henri’s obvious excitement, but his stomach was in knots, and there was the itching again in his head and spine.

It also meant that he was going to be gone for hours in the day, and Julian was to stay at home, or at least within the neighborhood. It was more freedom than Julian had usually been given; for an awful moment as they sat on the mattress and sipped the last of their .99 cent ramen broth, he was reminded vividly of a childhood behind doors. Outside only when his sister, Cassandra, could watch him, and otherwise inside while the rest of the family went to church or out for activities that he was never allowed to be involved in. He’d known every corner of that house from its hiding places to its large-pane windows, its high ceilings and grand banisters, everything that he could remember under his hands but not picture quite the same anymore. He only remembered feeling like a terribly kept secret, watching the front doors closing, wishing he could come along just once.

Henri didn’t think of him like that, he reminded himself. Henri just wanted him safe. He’d said so a million times as he left the car, or told Julian to wait in living rooms or on front porches until he came to get him. Julian felt fragile. With Henri being gone more often, he was determined to show he could help, too, one way or another. 

\--

A few days later, Henri started work, which left Julian alone for eight hours of the day. He spent this time, at first, exploring the house. It was run-down, the cabinetry was nothing compared to the grand kitchen of his childhood home, but the water worked now and when he was really cold he could shower and heat up for a little while at least. The place was dirty, mostly, and the walls were discoloured with water damage or had holes poked into the drywall. The carpets were stained and sadly flattened in places, and the broken window let heaps of cold air in, but Henri brought home a spare bit of sub-board wood and nails to block most of the wind and that seemed to help.

Julian decided after only a few days that he loved this house. It was nothing like his childhood home, or the party houses he had migrated through, and in only a few days’ time he knew every detail. Henri returned to him either sitting on the mattress, staring into space, so far away from himself that it took rousing to bring him back, or showering with cheap dollar store towels, or rooting through cupboards again just to see if anything was there. 

Before Henri was paid, they were struggling. They had a house, sure, but they didn’t have food or a way to do laundry quite yet. They went to the laundromat and counted coins, or they went to Mama’s and asked for pre-paid meals, and Julian watched Henri’s face contort in concern and stress every time he coughed himself awake at night, spitting up phlegm, shivering. He knew that something had to give, so sometimes, he didn’t come home from work right away. When he did come home, a few hours later, it was with new bruises and fistfuls of cash, NyQuil or other cold relief medicine for Julian, .99 cent ramen, or cheap protein bars.

In those first two weeks, Julian knew something had to change. He finally ventured out into town and found the places they had migrated to and from, where Henri had gone inside and Julian had waited in the car, and he dug deep below his nerves and swimming things through the air that he knew weren’t real, and he left with fistfuls of cash, too.

He woke one night to Henri gone from the bed, but he could hear his footsteps on the stairs, trying his best to be quiet despite the creaking. Julian swept the blankets off, urgency pounding in his chest, and followed Henri down the stairs just as he was stepping out the door. “Wait,” Julian called, and Henri turned. In the low light, Julian could only see the shape of him against the snow outside, his heavy brow and darting eyes, his shame weighed on his shoulders. The silhouette of him swam into millions of pieces and threatened to stab Julian, but he continued on with chattering teeth, “you don’t have to,”

“Julian,” Henri started, sadly, quietly. “We need money, I can’t-”

“No,” Julian shoved his cold fist in his pocket and drew out a few crumpled twenties, some fives, too. “I- I have money.”

Henri crossed from the front door to the stairs in a few seconds, the door closing behind him. “Julian, where did you get this?” His tone was urgent, and for a moment Julian thought he was angry, and shrunk slightly away from his imposing form. Henri’s gentle hands took the bills from him, counting them disbelievingly. 

“I- I just-” Words escaped him again, slippery, too hard to catch with just his hands. Henri reached out, and for a moment Julian felt a flash of danger, watched Henri’s fragments try to be arms again, but when the pressure of a hug enveloped him, suddenly Henri was whole and holding him. 

“I don’t want you to do that, okay?” His voice was thick, like the chill in the air, seeping into Julian’s bones from this close. He shivered. “I don’t want you to have to, just leave that stuff to me, okay?” 

“Okay,” Julian whispered, but Henri let him go and led him back upstairs instead, and Julian thought that if it freed him just this once, it was worth it.


	5. could you stomach it anymore?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri's first day on the job.

It was Sunday night, and Henri was still awake. Their dimly lit kitchen fluorescents had buzzed above him as he ducked out onto the deck to have shoplifted cigarettes again and again, hoping the nicotine would bring rest to his jittery limbs. He hadn’t eaten dinner, opted to save their last pack of ramen for Julian the following morning. He’d have breakfast after work, maybe check Mama’s, he figured. It took Julian’s gentle suggestion and concerned eyes to finally pull him into the bedroom, and even then as he lay in bed, he stared at the water stain on their ceiling; his brain spinning like a top. 

He had a job, a real job, if Richard was going to hold true. He’d given them a house and let them crash here, and nothing terrible had happened yet. Henri had still gone on his phone, stealing wifi from Mama’s as Julian ate and looked up his construction company. Everything came up and he even found Richard’s name and picture on their website. It should have calmed him down. Henri could see the company was real, under his fingertips, the website was literally picture proof, and yet he couldn’t stop his leg bouncing. He couldn’t stop thinking about a cigarette again, about his jumpy hands, about the scars on his shoulders, about adding to that collection. But then Julian was done eating, and was smiling at him, and Henri stuffed the feeling away and smiled back. 

“Just wait ‘till I’m making steady money,” He said, “I’ll buy us fry boats.” 

“Let’s fix the bathroom first,” Julian had replied, quietly, but it was more words than he normally said in public. Henri laughed, but it was a hollow thing and he knew it. 

If he fell asleep now he would be able to get five hours and twenty seven minutes of sleep. Henri clenched his fists and released each finger individually, and breathed out, counting backwards from ten. It wasn’t about whether or not Richard’s company was real. If he’d been a murderer or something, he would have killed Henri in that alley, or in the house he gave them. But that didn’t excuse the feeling that this felt like a trap. Henri’s spine tingled with it, the hairs on his neck raising every time he thought about it, because there had to be a catch. There was always a catch. 

Julian rolled in bed to face him, and Henri’s heart slowed a fraction. He wasn’t sure if it was the act of putting his anxiety away that did it, or if it was just Julian. Henri had not realized how alone he had been until he and Julian had been sleeping in his car, and how the proximity of another person- someone he could actually trust- had made him feel. 

“You okay?” His voice was soft, hoarse from disuse and sleep. Henri knew Julian hadn’t been asleep either, most times when he was, his hands found Henri subconsciously. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Henri replied, and his tone was also soft, the loudest noise he could muster. He kept staring at the ceiling, but out of the corner of his eye, he knew Julian was giving him the all-seeing-look. It was something Julian was incredibly good at, albeit Henri didn’t think he was really convincing at the moment. 

“You’re anxious,” Julian told him, and one of his hands found Henri’s and unclenched his fist for him gently. “But that’s okay… You still need to sleep,” 

Henri sighed softly. “I haven’t had a job like this before,” Haven’t had a job at all before, actually. “It’ll be fine, though,” It was added as an afterthought, like a reflex. Julian was younger, and he didn’t want the kid feeling like things were going to get bad again. One way or another, he’d figure it out, and he needed Julian to trust that- even when he himself didn’t.

“I know,” Julian whispered back. Henri turned his head finally to look at him in the dim light, and Julian had the blankets drawn up to his neck, dark hair a shaggy mess over his head and the pillow. “It’s going to be okay,”

Julian wasn’t affirming his words, he realized, but rather telling him. Henri nodded, breathed a heavy sigh, and turned his tired eyes to the ceiling again, carving out the water stain above them. “Close your eyes,” Julian’s voice drifted next to him, and Henri did.

\--

When Henri got to the site, it was still dark out. He parked his car and walked up to the half-built building where a group of men were standing in a loose huddle and shooting the shit. His stomach was a writhing mess, and his legs were weak beneath him, and his eyes still felt heavy from exhaustion. It was a confusing feeling to be so exhausted and so full of adrenaline. He wandered up but stayed on the outskirts rather than participating in the conversation- he caught snippets about wives or idiots on job sites and vowed to try not and become the latter, but he was out of his element. 

It was one thing to be a kid on the streets, where all you had to do was enough to survive, but there were expectations to meet here and people to get along with. Henri didn’t know what that looked like.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone saying his name, and in the site’s lighting, he looked up and saw Richard there before him. “Alright,” Richard turned to the crew of men, who all looked at least ten years older than him, save for one extremely tall guy in the back. “This is Henri, he’s gonna be sweeping up from now on.” Henri clenched his jaw under the attention, felt his proverbial hackles raise, and gave a nod to everyone. 

A new bitch boy, he heard someone mutter, and it did nothing to help him feel any better. Before anything else could happen, however, Richard steered him away. “Got some spare equipment,” He said gruffly, and Henri was thankful for the lack of kindness. He didn’t know how to react to that anymore, or maybe he hadn’t ever, he didn’t know. He kicked off his hole-filled shoes and put on the heavy boots Richard had kicked towards him. They were a size or so too big, but otherwise fit, and he changed into the overalls he’d been given too- rolled the bottoms up a few times to make sure they didn’t drag. 

“There,” Richard’s brow furrowed. “Take those home with you, they’re yours now. I don’t have a fuckin’ use for them.” A complicated and awful feeling tangled in his chest as he said thank you and then left to rejoin his new coworkers.

\---

By the time the site was in full swing, Henri was sure he was going to pass out. He had been running around the for what felt like all day, but what must have been more like four hours. He felt like he was horrendously lost, slow and stupid- and by the way most of the guys were talking to him, that’s exactly what he fucking was. They asked him to get things for them, snapped at him or taunted him when he didn’t know where things were, and Henri bit his lip and put his head down despite his instincts and tried to focus on doing the best job he could. The last thing he needed was to piss them off, to make them bitch to Richard, to lose this job. Instead, he tried to think about going home, about getting his first paycheque and being able to buy a real meal for him and Julian. He put his head down and got back to work.

The most recent request had been for him to go find edging grease, and everytime he went to where it was supposed to be it had been moved, and every person he asked said it was somewhere else. Henri squinted to read labels, fished things out of storage spaces and squinted at them until he sussed out that they probably weren’t what he was looking for. He ducked and skirted by people, muttering out quick warnings of his presence, and felt himself become dizzier and dizzier. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had eaten something the previous day, but with only one pack of ramen left, he had wanted Julian to have breakfast. Henri hadn’t thought it would bother him this much, but he felt fucking empty, felt like he was going to collapse-

He jolted suddenly and realized he had walked right into someone as he teetered backwards and grabbed the opposite wall for support. “Fuck, I’m so sorry-” He stared down, and then up, and up some more to see the guy’s face. He must have been six foot something, because he was tall, and what he had in height he matched in mass, all broad shouldered and big-bellied, and Henri was pretty sure he was going to be snapped in half for a moment.

“Hey dude, you aren’t lookin’ too good, are you okay?” The voice that came from him was appropriately deep, and he lowered the nail gun he held in one big hand and turned it off. 

Henri waved his hand and shrugged. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine- I just need to find this edging grease?” 

The guy’s face contorted into a pitying expression, and Henri felt uncomfortably hot under it, and it didn’t all have to do with how dizzy and sick he was. “Aw man, they’re fucking with you, dude,” 

“What?” Henri asked, feeling a horrible sinking in his stomach. He’d been wandering around asking people for twenty goddamn minutes. He was pretty sure he’d asked everyone on the site. 

“Yeah, they’re the worst,” The guy reached out a hand, “I’m Wyatt, I did your job when I started. If they ever ask you to find something, just come n’ ask me, I’ll tell ya if it’s real or not,” 

Henri took it and shook his hand as the sinking feeling turned to numbness within him. At least he could ask Wyatt next time, but it didn’t undo that he’d humiliated himself. “Thanks, dude,” 

“No problem- but you’re really lookin’ rough, you need to eat.” Wyatt set down the nail gun and gestured for Henri to follow him. “It’s almost break time anyway,”

Henri felt oddly read in a way that only Julian normally accomplished, and he wasn’t sure if that had more to do with Julian knowing him well, or no one else really giving a damn. “But what about the…” Henri trailed off as Wyatt waved him off and Henri followed after him and tried to fight away the defeat he was feeling. As they left, Wyatt announced they were going on break and ignored the jeers that followed 

Wyatt led him to his truck, and from inside withdrew what he was sure was a lunch kit but looked a bit more like a backpack to Henri. He followed Wyatt around to the back and began to think of an excuse as to why he didn’t have a lunch, like he’d left it at home by accident and would be sure to bring it tomorrow, but Wyatt didn’t ask. Instead, he pulled the tailgate down and sat on it, placing the bag next to him. “Pull up a seat!” He grinned, face rosey and sweaty, and Henri sat.

The sun was almost fully risen now over the mountains just on the edge of town, casting long shadows and incredibly vibrant colours across the sky. The fuzzy outline of jutting peaks far away cut hazily into the oranges and blues above, and the long shadows left him shivering just a bit, but after all the running around the chilly air was a nice break. Before he could think to start conversation, Wyatt was pressing half of a large hoagie into his hands. “Wha- oh, no, it’s fine-” 

“You can’t do this kinda work on an empty stomach, dude. Don’t worry, I always pack extras in case someone forgets their lunch,” Wyatt gestured to the pack and Henri peered in, hesitant to eat for only a fraction of a second, until he saw the handfuls of granola bars and other snacks stowed away. The only reason Wyatt’s lunch bag was so big was to make sure he had enough on hand for anyone else. Henri felt immediately a bit better about being around him in a way that was hard to describe- genuine kindness had been a rarity in the past two years, he supposed. Seeing it still felt fake, but there was something about Wyatt’s smile that suggested it wasn’t an act.

Besides, the sandwich looked really fucking good. Henri took an eager bite and, yeah, it was- it’d been a while since he had something that wasn’t hashbrowns from Mama’s or ramen, and there was something about eating fresh lettuce and cheese and deli meat that was so goddamn good. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt, and considered trying to find a way to stow away half of what he’d been given for Julian later, but he couldn’t find an angle and had no clue where he’d keep it. 

“So, first time on a site, yeah?” Wyatt said around a mouthful. Henri nodded and took another bite, torn between eating it all as fast as possible or really savoring it, because he didn’t know when he was going to get the chance to have something like this again. 

“Richard offered me the job,” Henri said, but he didn’t say why. Thankfully, Wyatt didn’t press.

“Rich is a good dude,” Wyatt agreed. “It’s kinda nice to have someone like, younger around. ‘Cause you’re like eighteen, right?”

Henri hesitated, because his initial instinct was to lie, and it almost rolled off his tongue. For a brief moment, he was disgusted with himself as he tended to be, unsettled that lying was so easy- but he reminded himself again that sometimes lying meant safety, lying meant money, lying meant survival. If he was lucky, this was the beginning of not needing to fight to survive, something like a new chance at life. So, after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Seventeen,”

“That’s how old I was when I started! I’m nineteen now though,” Wyatt took another bite of sandwich as Henri looked at him in disbelief. Wyatt was easily double the size of most of the guys here, but upon closer inspection, there was something a little more youthful about his face. Rounded a bit more. Less wrinkles, maybe. 

“Really?” Henri said, “I figured you were at least, like, twenty something.” 

Wyatt smiled and swallowed, “Nah, most people think so though. Prolly the height.” 

Henri decided then that Wyatt was someone he could probably trust, at least while he was here. He was an outcast, too, in his own way, and there was something there. If Henri was lucky, Wyatt might decide he likes him, and they could have lunch like this again. “You look real tired,” Wyatt’s voice interjected his thoughts. “I normally bring coffee in the morning, how do you take yours? I’ll bring some.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-” 

“Oh shut up about that,” Wyatt waved his hand. “I always make too much, n’ besides, it’s in my genes!” Henri must have given him a look, because Wyatt continued: “My mama always fed anyone who walked through our door, an’ I think it’s just real important that people have good food, y’know?” 

Henri did know, because this hoagie almost made him fucking cry when he first bit into it, and now his throat was so tight he couldn’t say anything aside from, “Yeah,” He took another bite and, after swallowing his pride, he asked: “Is there any way I could steal a few granola bars from you?” Wyatt rather immediately withdrew a handful (which, with Wyatt’s hands, was four bars) and handed them to Henri, who thanked him and stuffed them in his pockets. 

Later, these would be a nice treat for Julian. He’d figure something else out for himself.

They finished eating lunch and made small talk in the back of the truck. Wyatt was really nice. Henri could picture him mowing his elderly neighbor’s lawn without being asked, red-faced and smiling boy next door. He asked questions, but let Henri wiggle out of them, he talked fondly of his mom, of food, of the guys- he talked fondly about everything. It wasn’t jealousy that pinged in Henri’s chest, but it was something similar, and he didn’t want to look at it too closely.

One thing was undeniable: Henri felt more like a person than he had in a long time. Julian wasn’t one for talking (most conversations with Julian were all body and eyes; subtle movements and glances) and when you were homeless, people walked in a halo around you, people didn’t look at you. Wyatt kept eye contact, and Henri squirmed under it along with the uncomfortable realization that he had felt like more of a ghost than anything these past two years. 

When he went back to work, he found the ribbing from the guys easier to handle, he felt stronger than he had in some time. Henri did his best to ignore the pit of guilt in his stomach at having had a meal Julian wasn’t a part of and put his head down to work, and this time when they asked him to find random materials and tools, he just went to Wyatt to ask. 

\--

It felt odd to walk up the front lawn to the Brackley house, to think that he was going home, for the first time in a couple of years that word had a destination in the present. Henri opened the creaky front door and was met by Julian appearing at the top of the stairs. “Henri,” He breathed, voice still small, soft. 

“Hey Julian,” Henri sat on the stairs, unlaced his new (used) boots and then joined Julian to where he had drifted in the kitchen, only to see him preparing the last of their food. “Hey, this was for your breakfast,” 

Julian shook his head, placing the styrofoam bowl down on the counter in front of Henri. “Our breakfast,” He corrected softly. Guilt was an understatement. Henri, feeling as though he’d been dipped in an icebath, withdrew the granola bars from his pocket and gave one to Julian, placing the rest next to the ramen.

“It’s okay, I’m not hungry. One of the guys shared his lunch,” Henri leaned against the counter, feeling at once like he was more exhausted than he had been in some time. But that didn’t matter when he knew that the granola bars were all they had left for food, and they’d been frequenting Mama’s almost every other day. He felt bad about it. They had a house now, and he had a job, and even before then at least he’d had the car. There were folks suffering more who needed it more. 

When Julian didn’t take a single bite of ramen, and instead stared at him with his watchful eyes, Henri picked up the bowl and took a few bites. It seemed enough to coax Julian to eat next, whose boney hands trembled around the warm container. The ever-present danger of starvation burned at Julian’s edges, and Henri’s nerves were ablaze because of it. Whether he wanted to or not, he’d have to go out and find some dates tonight. 

Hours later, Henri shuffled up the steps again, and this time his hands and legs felt numb. He still hadn’t completely come back, and couldn’t feel the three grocery bags he held in his hands, but he ached elsewhere, everywhere, but he pushed it to the absolute edge of his mind as much as he could. He had bought them a few things, a cheap pot to boil water in from a thrift store, and handfuls of cheap and easy food, rice and eggs. 

When he came inside, he expected Julian’s eyes to go to the grocery bags, the mixture of happiness and horror, knowing more than anyone else what Henri had done to get the money. Henri stepped into the kitchen, set the bags down on the counter, and Julian wrapped him in a hug. It took him aback, and for a moment he was tempted to cry- but he let his arms encase the smaller kid, _God,_ they were both just kids. 

Henri dipped his head to press against Julian’s for a moment. “We’re gonna have better food tonight,” He murmured. “When I get paid it’ll all be easier,” _He hoped._


	6. rows of houses sound asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri and Julian's first Christmas at the Brackley House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Drug use, mental illness. 
> 
> This one is actually much fluffier!! so enjoy!

When Henri received his first paycheque, Julian knew about it right away. He was snapped out of his stupor as Henri burst in through the front door, took the steps two at a time, and like a whirlwind he came into the kitchen with the biggest grin on his face. “I got paid, Julian! We have money!” Julian looked at him, his rosey cheeks from the cold, freckles pale but present, eyes bright and lively. Before he could move, Henri swept him up in a hug, lifted him off his feet for a dizzying moment, ruffled his hair once he was back on the ground. His joy was infectious, it was burning, it was filling every cold crevice of Julian with heat that threatened to burn him alive from the inside out. What a sweet way to go. “Which means you’re going to the doctor,”

The heat fled him in an instant and he shook his head, anxiety formed in his chest like a mess of worms in his rib cage, writhing and uncomfortable, full to the brim. “Julian, you have to, you’ve been really sick for ages.” Henri’s tone softened, he must have felt Julian’s heart struggling to beat evenly with all the worms stuffed around it. He wanted them _out._ He did not want to go to the doctor, he didn’t know if he could.

For a long time, Henri held him, and then he coaxed Julian out the door and into the car. Julian trembled throughout the entire clinic, his eyes went black with the anxiety of it, and he did not remember much else other than Henri’s hand on his shoulder guiding him, the doctor’s stethoscope on his chest, and medicine Henri picked up from the pharmacy not long after. It felt like a whirlwind, from one place to the next, skin hypersensitive as the temperature changed and hands touched him, but Henri's remained, warm on his shoulder or his back. Voice filling his ears. He shook in the passenger seat while Henri went in to the pharmacy and slowly regained his vision, flexing his fingers across the dashboard for recognizable ridges, gasping for air in a car that was full of it. When Henri rejoined him, he didn’t feel the rush of cold air, but he heard Henri’s calm voice and Henri’s arms around him and he came back down with his head buried in Henri’s chest. “It’s okay, Julian, I got you,” Henri murmured, rubbing his back.

“D-don’t like doctors,” Julian said, wetly, and the words come out in a rush of air. It felt like he was a writhing mass trying to stuff himself back into a human shape.

“I promise I won’t take you back there, we just needed medicine, it’s gonna be okay,” Henri ruffled his hair just a little and Julian pulled away, taking the white paper bag from Henri’s hands, the scripts and pills rattling inside. He bitterly swept the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, staring out the window so Henri didn’t see his flushed and teary face. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Henri’s hand touched his shoulder. “Julian,” Julian turned his head to look at him, trying to set his chin, trying to see only Henri’s face and not the flickering that threatened to overcome it. “You’re allowed to be upset, dude,” 

“Okay,” Julian muttered. Henri’s face was soft and kind, and definitely not convinced, but he started the car anyway, and drove them home. Julian was shaken, but he went inside and took the medicine and had a shower with warm water and felt like more of a human being than he had for the past year, and that was all thanks to Henri. 

\--

Within a week, his cough had subsided greatly, and the wetness in his lungs was already fading. Henri worked himself to the bone and went out most nights to work more, and Julian stayed home, wandering or waiting. Sometimes he went out too, but he didn’t tell Henri. He kept a small sum of cash aside, hidden in his pockets or in a gap in the wall where he kept the pills he’d lifted several months prior. Every now and then he’d take one, or two, when he needed to not feel his limbs anymore, when he needed all the noise to stop and his body to cease betraying him for just a moment. 

Henri always knew. He asked Julian what was wrong, and nothing was wrong, Julian felt fine for the first time in days. He wasn’t shaking anymore. He wasn’t seeing things, at least, he wasn’t afraid of what was there. Henri asked him to stop but Julian didn’t, he just tried to do it when Henri wasn’t home. He’d take them before going out, and it was only once or twice that he didn’t get home in time, when he found Henri anxiously searching the neighborhood for him or found him bursting out the door when he realized Julian wasn’t inside. 

“Please just stay home, okay?” Henri said, holding Julian to his chest on their front lawn. He didn’t say _‘I’m worried about you,’_ he didn’t say, _‘I know you’re doing something.’_ But he did not have to. Instead, he guided Julian inside and tucked him into bed and fed him something before he drifted off. When Julian slept, he awoke from terrible dreams, or he awoke in tears, and Henri always ushered him back to sleep again. 

\--

“Psst, Julian, wake up!” Henri’s hissing roused him and he sat up rather abruptly to Henri kneeling at the end of the bed. “I’ve got something to show you,” Julian squinted at him in the darkness and Henri reached out a hand, so Julian took it, and all he could feel anymore was Henri’s skin against his own for a brief moment as he was lifted to his feet. 

“What?” Julian murmured, but Henri was grinning, and he told Julian to get shoes on so he did.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Henri told him as they stepped out onto the front lawn. It was dark out, and ice cold, but Henri’s car was already running. 

“So?” Julian said this so quietly Henri didn’t hear, but he got into the warm interior of the car after him, and Henri took a drink from the cup holder and shoved it into Julian’s hands. It was nice and hot, Julian sipped it, and then again- hot chocolate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had hot chocolate. 

“I got something to show you,” Henri said again, and he began to carefully drive down the snowy neighborhood roads. It had stopped snowing for now, but the entire suburban world was covered in white and the sky was the marble-grey-orange that it always was after snowing, when the streetlights illuminated the clouds above, and cast everything in the dull glow. Julian sipped hot chocolate, glad to have the heat from the car blasting him, and when they turned the corner- everything illuminated.

There were Christmas lights on every house, some with even more extravagant displays out front, great blow-up snowmen or Santa Claus’, the lights cast everywhere on the snow, bouncing and ricocheting, blinding. Julian almost pressed his nose to the glass of the window, and Henri’s dreary radio fuzzily played Christmas songs when he set it. The world around them slid by in lazy bright streaks of light, and Julian turned to look at Henri’s face; his pale skin illuminated by the hundreds of little lights like his hundreds of freckles, ginger hair poking out from his beanie, face still a little red from the cold. He was focused on the road, or maybe on the glow of all the lights, but Julian for some reason couldn’t look away. Henri noticed after a few moments (he always noticed) and took one hand off the wheel to throw around Julian’s shoulders. 

He didn’t say, _‘we’re going to be okay.’_

He didn’t have to.

They drove for an hour or two at least, mostly in silence, and Julian offered Henri sips of hot chocolate as they wound their way through town and watched it all pass around them. When they returned to the Brackley house, Henri went to take a shower and Julian laid back in bed and thought about the gift he had tucked into his hiding spot in the wall, the small thing he could afford for Henri. But he only thought about it for a moment, because instead he was thinking about the hot chocolate, and Henri’s arm around his shoulders, and Henri’s smile, the hiss of his voice, _‘Julian, wake up!’_

The warmth in him had little to do with hot chocolate now. 

Henri came back to bed, and Julian pretended to be asleep as he settled in, pulled the old blanket around himself and threw an arm over Julian’s side like it was nothing. Julian kept his eyes closed and listened as Henri’s breathing became deep and calm, and only opened his eyes to watch flakes of snow begin to fall outside the blinds of their window until he was too tired to keep them open any longer. 

When he woke up the next day, Henri was already in the kitchen, and already passing him a bowl of cheap ramen. It had rice in it, too, and a hard boiled egg unevenly sliced. “Christmas ramen,” Julian commented, peering up to see Henri’s face change into something like amusement, or maybe joy (if he was bold enough to guess) and felt a fierce unknown feeling rise in him as Henri nodded.

“Yeah man, Christmas ramen it is,” Henri said after he had swallowed his bite. He was in a hoodie and his jeans still from last night, sleeves rolled up, leaning against the counter as he ate. Julian ate too, hungrily and quickly, sitting up on the counter across from him as the slightly crooked kitchen window let in cold air across his back.

“C’mon,” Henri set down his empty bowl after drinking down the last of the broth, and he left the room. Julian finished his too and followed Henri outside, where with one throw of a snowball, they erupted into all-out war. 

Julian shrieked into the snowy morning air as he tossed snowball after snowball, dodging between trees, Henri’s laughter bouncing off of every one of them. They fought until their hands were purple from the cold and they both had bruises from particularly pointed throws, until Julian was breathless, wet hair hanging around his face, snow stuck to his clothes and laughing because he had hit Henri square in the back of the head and Henri was laughing, too, and it was good. It was all so good. 

That night, Julian fished the gift out of the wall and held it behind his back as Henri laid out on the bed. “Got you something,” Julian said, and he tossed it at Henri, who just barely caught it. 

“You- what?” Henri was confused, but he opened the little envelope Julian had swiped from somewhere or another and saw the contents. It hadn’t been too much, but it was more than they could afford, Julian knew he was going to give himself away. Two free movie passes fell out, and a candy bar Julian had stolen, he thought it would be a nice touch to include but he hadn’t had enough for it so he’d swiped it before the man noticed. “Julian, how…” Henri trailed off as he squinted at the tickets, until he could read them, and looked up at Julian where he was sitting at the edge of the mattress. “I can’t really remember the last time I went to see a movie,” 

Julian shrugged his shoulders a little, words weren’t around to use, but Henri moved down the bed to hug him. “Thanks,” He mumbled, voice thick with emotion and once he let go, he broke off half of the chocolate bar to share and not long after they lay back in the dark together until sleep took them both, one after another.


	7. all we had was good will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri might have found a solution to he and Julian's barren household by making a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYA FOLKS long time no see, don't worry, I'm about to drop like 15k in chapters.
> 
> CW: Financial stress, allusions to underage sex, verbal abuse in the work place.

Julian was a fitful sleeper, kind of like Henri himself was. When he’d been homeless, it was easy to attribute his uneasiness to lack of safety or security, but now that they had a house it was harder to explain away the fact that he woke up multiple times a night with hot bursts of anxiety blooming in his chest. Julian woke up frequently too, shaking into pieces, gasping, or even crying on occasion; so Henri tried to minimize his own night time struggles. Julian didn’t need to be worrying about that, too. 

But it was almost impossible to hide things from someone this close to you. Henri awoke to the dim night time glow from their window, breath coming in uneasy gasps, and Julian’s palm appeared and flattened over the center of Henri’s chest before he had the opportunity to pretend he wasn’t anxious. It happened every night since starting work, and it was ridiculous, really. Henri clenched his jaw and let his breathing slow down, reaching up to sling his arm over his eyes, and Julian’s hand didn’t move an inch.

“It’s okay,” Julian murmured softly at his side. 

“It’s just-” Henri sighed instead of continuing. _It’s stupid, we’re better off than we have been for months, I finally have a job and a place to stay and a bank account, why am I freaking out now?_ The thoughts ran through his head with practiced ease, as if on a track. Instead of voicing these things aloud, he exhaled a controlled breath, bit back the words and focused on the comforting pressure of Julian’s hand.

When he peeked out from under his arm, Julian was staring at him. He could see why people might find the stares odd or uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like that for Henri, who knew Julian better than most people. Julian was harmless despite being eerie and different, but it wasn't something he was able to easily convince people of. “I think it’s just work,” He finally said. “It’ll be fine, I’m just…”

“Adjusting,” As little as Julian tended to speak, and as often as he appeared so far from himself, Henri was still surprised to find that those long wordless stares were accompanied by an attentiveness that most assumed didn’t exist. Julian had needed to be quick, careful and observant to make it as far as he did, just the same as he had.

Henri nodded, “Adjusting, yeah,” 

After checking his phone, he knew if he fell asleep now, he’d have three hours and twenty seven minutes of sleep. With Julian’s hand still rested on his chest (and Julian quickly falling back asleep) it took him slowly bit by bit until his thoughts had become drowsy enough to let him rest.

When Henri did rise for work, he watched Julian sit up as he pulled his boots on at the edge of the bed. “Promise me you won’t go and do anything,” The words came forth from him before he had been able to stop them. In the cold winter light just barely pressing through the slats of their blinds, he watched Julian’s gaunt head tilt. He didn’t say anything, but instead, he laid back down and pulled the covers up over himself.

A hot and terrible feeling prickled in Henri’s chest. He could prevent these things sometimes, but there wasn’t anything stopping Julian from leaving once he was at work. As he got into his car, he knew he’d probably have to go out again that night, and then had to force the thought far enough away that he wouldn’t spiral again. The drive was distracting enough because his eyesight had gotten so bad that it took all his concentration to squint and make out road signs before he was ten feet away from them. Once he actually got to work, he hoped that it’d be enough to push the thoughts from his mind. 

Stamping the snow off his boots as he came onto the job site, he was greeted by some grunts from the other guys who stood in their usual loose circle and talked. It was better than he had been getting, since he’d been routinely referred to as the _bitch boy_ which didn’t really surprise him, nor did it phase him, as he’d definitely been called worse before. But he supposed he’d take a grunt over a degrading nickname. Silver linings, right?

He almost slipped back into thinking about later that night when a broad hand clapped him on the back in a jovial, but still jarring way. “Heya Henri!” Wyatt’s grinning red-cheeked face stared down at him.

“Oh hey Wyatt,” Henri let his heart settle for a moment, but it wasn’t long before Wyatt was shoving a coffee cup into his chest. Henri took it, grateful for the warmth, “Oh- you got me coffee again?”

“Yeah! You’ve been super tired every morning, so y’know, figured some coffee might do you good!” He was so fucking kind that it made Henri sort of want to rip his skin off, and sort of want to grab Wyatt by the shoulders and ask what he wanted for all this kindness. It’d been a few weeks now of Wyatt randomly showing up with coffee or lunch, and Henri couldn’t help but total the expenses in the back of his head the more it went on.

Instead, Henri took a sip and said, “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it,” To which Wyatt waved off his thank-yous and instead asked Henri how his weekend had been. 

It’d been a few weeks since he’d started, and Henri was lying if he tried to convince himself he didn’t owe Wyatt. Whether he was double checking where things were, or if what he was being asked to find actually existed, or sharing lunches- Wyatt had been constantly around making sure Henri was succeeding. There was no way he could know what was riding on Henri’s success at the job, but he did these things anyway, and now he’d bought Henri coffee again and he wasn’t sure how to repay any of this back to him. 

He was thankful for the work day actually beginning, so that he could push away all his thoughts entirely and focus on the job at hand. It was busy work for the most part, unless they had to wait for materials to arrive, but he just strayed close to Wyatt for that and ignored everyone else. With the cacophony of machinery and various jeers, Henri shouldn’t have overheard the conversation behind him.

Wyatt was humming, a= habit Henri had noticed about him, that he hummed when he was concentrating and sang a little to himself from time to time. John, one of the more experienced guys on the site, had also noticed, “Shut the fuck up,” He snapped across the space between them, and Wyatt paused his work to look over at the older man. 

“Sorry, I uh-” Henri turned fully, squinting, and he couldn’t see Wyatt very well from this distance but he could see the body language and it was all he needed. 

“I uh, I um,” John imitated, to the laughter of a few of the other guys. “I’m sick of fuckin’ hearing you, fuckin’ idiot,”

The broom Henri was holding fell to the floor with a clatter as he crossed the twenty or so foot gap between him and the scene. He had just enough time to consider how his anger came for him; less like a tide coming in and more like a hurricane rolling the ocean up over the road- “Henri,” Wyatt started, but the closer he got, the more he could see Wyatt, the more he noticed he was shying away and trying not to instigate anything just by _existing._

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up too, huh, John?” Henri’s voice projected more than he intended, words flooding out of him in a rush. He stopped just short of shoving the man who was easily twenty or so years his senior, kept his wits about him just enough not to cause a fight. The other guys whom had laughed at John’s needling of Wyatt also laughed at Henri, or maybe at his boldness, it was hard to say what they found so amusing. Henri didn’t care. All that mattered was John’s face and the mounting anger in his eyes and the rage threatening to drown Henri. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” 

“I said,” Henri gritted his teeth. “Maybe you should take your unwanted fucking opinions elsewhere,” For a moment, Henri thought John was going to swing at him. Instead he laughed, loudly and derisively, and shook his head. 

“You watch your fuckin’ back, kid,” He growled, and Henri opened his mouth to reply, about to do something, anything to get this motherfucker to _shut up-_ but he was interrupted by Wyatt grabbing his arm and tugging him away before he could say anything else. The jeers followed them until they were out of sight and even more, Henri bristling, wishing he could go back there and ask them what was so fucking funny.

“Wyatt,” Henri tried to pull his arm away by Wyatt’s grip was too tight, so he dug his heels in and wrenched his arm back hard enough that Wyatt was twisted around. “Dude-” He started, but Wyatt turned and cut him off.

“Just don’t get involved, okay?” Wyatt’s words came out in a rush, his broad face was twisted into something concerned. “It’s fine, he’s just joking around,”

Henri raised his eyebrows. “He’s clearly not joking, Wyatt, and they shouldn’t be talking to you like that,” Wyatt, _of all fucking people,_ shouldn’t be treated that way. But now that he was further away, his hands were trembling, the hot swirling feeling was beginning to subside and he couldn’t help but think he might have done something incredibly stupid.

Wyatt’s shoulders sagged slightly. “It’s okay, for real,” But it was a losing battle. Henri could see the vague sadness gathering up in all of the places Wyatt’s normally exuberant energy filled and his heart ached for him. _No,_ he thought, _there’s no way I could let that slide._ “... We should go out for lunch after work,” 

The suggestion took Henri a bit off guard, and he frowned, “Wyatt, you don’t have to get me lunch just because I-”

“No,” Wyatt waved him off, “not like that, I just think you’re cool.” 

What the hell was Henri supposed to say to that? His brain stalled. What was left of the anger was rapidly fading, but it was just present enough that he felt a bit sick and a bit keyed up. “Uh- sure, but I can’t be out super late,” Gotta get back to Julian. The thought of him cooled what was left, and Henri rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. He didn’t say it, but even just agreeing made Wyatt grin again, and Henri supposed that one longer day out was worth it. 

God, he was attached now, wasn’t he?

He and John paced around each other like angry animals for the rest of the day. The tension was thick, even when Wyatt and Henri ate lunch by the truck, Henri could feel the anger brimming and settling over and over just beneath his skin. Back at work, he let himself linger with long hateful stares in John’s direction, and he felt the man’s own gaze burning into his back when he was turned away. As anxious as he was about fucking this up, he didn’t feel sorry. Wyatt deserved better. 

He pulled out his phone and sent a text to one of the few contacts he had: _Isaac._ He participated in Henri’s line of work, so to speak. They’d met at a party when Henri was sixteen, and Isaac (who was a year or two older, Henri was pretty sure) had given him his number and since then they’d communicated about dangerous guys to avoid, people who were safe, people who paid the most, who was really weird and so forth. It was a line he was thankful for having, because if he had to do this, he wanted to be safe and ensure the safety of others, as much as was possible given the circumstances. 

“Wanna carpool? I can drop you back off here after lunch,” Henri’s thoughts were interrupted from where he was checking his phone, lingering at Wyatt’s truck where they chose to meet. 

A weight lifted from his chest. “Yeah, that’d be great,” Henri tucked his phone away. With his eyesight, it was getting harder to read street signs, so finding his way to any new address was difficult at the least and dangerous at the most.

Wyatt’s sadness had been completely alleviated at the excitement about lunch, it seemed. He started talking excitedly about the pub he was taking Henri to and how it had the best wings, and Henri got into the truck as Wyatt set his lunch down between them on the bench seat. It was a nice truck, old but in a charming rustic sort of way people associated with small towns, whereas Henri’s affectionately titled _shitmobile_ was the trailer at the end of the road that you’re pretty sure someone’s cooking meth in, if you wanted to run with the comparison. Complete with a swath of rust running up from the back left tire almost to the brake light, he had gotten it for a hundred dollars a year ago and by some fucking miracle had managed to avoid insuring it up until now.

Henri recognized the pub as Wyatt pulled up to it as the one he’d met Richard outside of, and had frequented once or twice since to look for dates, or meet up with ones he had phone numbers for. It felt uncomfortable, like Wyatt might find out his secret somehow, even though he knew that no self-respecting client would approach him in the goddamn daylight. But Henri didn’t always go to self-respecting clients, in fact, considering he was only seventeen he didn’t think any of his dates could be considered morally sound. He itched for a cigarette. 

Instead, he went inside with Wyatt and sat down across from him at a booth. “Promise we won’t be super long,” Wyatt said, and Henri realized he must of had a look on his face. 

“It’s fine,” Henri replied a little too quickly, then paused, “I’m just worried about my roommate. He’s got anxiety and tends to get really concerned when I’m gone for long,” 

“Oh! You can invite him if you want?” Wyatt looked up from perusing the menu, but he seemed pretty settled on what he wanted, since he’d talking about their buffalo wings the entire way here. 

“Nah, he’s sort of a uh…” Henri scrunched up his face in thought, “a homebody?” 

“Ahh, that’s alright!” When the waitress came up, Henri was saved the trouble of trying to find the cheapest menu item to order because Wyatt ordered the same wings for him, too, and Henri felt relieved. “It’s so wild that you have a house,” 

Henri laughed at that, because it was even more wild to him than Wyatt had any way of knowing. “Yeah, man. It’s a shit heap, but it’s my shit heap, you know?”

“I wish I did know, dude,” There was obvious longing in Wyatt’s voice that prickled something in Henri that he didn’t feel like belonged. It was a selfish feeling, something hurt within him that said _no, you don’t want to know what I’ve done to get here._ It wasn’t Wyatt’s fault that Henri hadn’t been lucky.

Instead, he took a gulp of water when the waitress brought them some. “Oh yeah? D’you live at home?”

“Yeah, with my folks,” Wyatt picked at a scrape on his wrist. “It’s not too bad, it’d just be nice to have a little more freedom, yknow? When did you move out?”

Henri felt a shock of nervous energy. How did he tell this nice coworker of his that he was fucking homeless? “Young,” He took another gulp of water and Wyatt frowned but didn’t ask him to clarify, and he was grateful for it. 

“Yeah,” Wyatt tapped his fingers on the table and changed the topic, and for a while they just talked. Unlike their conversations at work, the topics were expanded past what tool did what. It was refreshing and confusing to talk about video games and movies, things Henri had missed out on for two polarizing years, and that fact became painfully obvious the more Wyatt asked for his opinions and was met with blank stares. Every time Henri got nervous Wyatt was going to ask or figure it out, he only got more excited to tell him about what he was into. Henri didn’t realize how much he’d missed being included in something bigger than survival.

Their food came and Henri thought he hadn’t tasted something so good in a while, aside from Wyatt’s lunches he’d been fed bits of. They burned his whole mouth and he wanted to devour the entire plate of them, but he had a few and slowed down to leave the rest- he could take them home for Julian, and that would alleviate some of his guilt. Wyatt, however, noticed his hesitance. “Not hungry?” 

“Yeah, and wanna take some home to Julian,” Henri wiped his hands on his napkin. 

“I can order him some to go?” 

“What? Nah, it’s okay, I-” Henri stopped, though, because Wyatt had already asked the waitress for another order of them to go and Henri thought he might implode. He let out a slow exhale, trying to reign in the complex hot shame burning in his chest, and looked up to find Wyatt staring at him with concern written all over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt mumbled. “I uh- I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?” 

“It’s- it’s not your fault,” Henri sighed as all the tension leave his body and got replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion. “It’s just weird to adjust,” 

“Adjust?” Wyatt asked cautiously. 

At first, there were no words, just pressure in his throat that kept anything from getting out of him, and then he was far away again, as if watching from the sidelines, and hearing himself as he told Wyatt, “We were in a really bad situation before I got this place,” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either, and it would have to do.

“Ohh,” Wyatt said. Shame and anxiety lingered at the same time; a combination of feeling helpless to the truth, and hellbent to hide it. “I’m sorry, man, that’s really shitty,” Wyatt continued lamely. 

“Yeah,” Henri muttered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it awkward-” 

“No, no-” Wyatt waved him off immediately. “It’s not your fault, dude. I’m really glad things are looking better for you,” Wyatt smiled across at him after wiping his face with his napkin, and it was albeit a little timid, but not very different from how he’d looked at Henri before. Henri really didn’t want Wyatt to look at him like people had when he was homeless, or rather how they'd not looked at him at all.

“Do you want to come and see my place?” Henri burst out with the question as he came up with it, the glimmer of an idea behind the words. Somewhere in the past few weeks, he’d come to know Wyatt was a good person, but this proved every ounce of his genuine kindness was true. 

“Yeah man! I’d love to come hang out-” Wyatt was grinning again, but Henri shook his head.

“No- like to move in, if you want? I have to ask Julian still, but you’re a cool guy and it’d be nice to have you around,” The only concern was Julian, who flinched at everyone’s words but Henri’s, who went into long silent spells staring at nothing at all. But Henri couldn’t get them stable on his own, even with his dates and his new job, they were on a shoestring budget until he could build a savings account and even that was a laughable idea. Henri wanted Wyatt’s ease with which he talked about movies and video games and ordered another plate of wings, but he couldn’t get there on his own.

Wyatt’s expression went from surprise to disbelief, and to what Henri could call cautious excitement. “Wait- really?”

“Yeah,” Henri’s smirk came now, a sharp little thing that made his dimples more pronounced. “What, couldn’t stand being around my rugged good looks 24-7?” 

Wyatt laughed, “That’d be awesome! I mean, the like, moving in thing-” 

Henri rolled his eyes playfully, “You aren’t gonna pull a ‘no homo’ on me now, are you?”

“No!” Wyatt was blushing. “Full homo, uh, kind of?” Henri couldn’t help but laugh at his expense a little this time, but Wyatt was laughing along, and maybe things would be okay. He dug back into his wings knowing there was another order coming for Julian and the conversation flowed casually. They talked about nothing important and it was so, so nice. 

Before they parted ways back at the site by Henri’s car, he squeezed the box that held Julian’s wings a little (Wyatt had insisted he have a side of the dip as well) and said, “Thank you, Wyatt, I really appreciate it.”

“Aw, it’s nothin'! Besides, you might be givin’ me a place to live!” Wyatt’s cheeks were rosey, eyes bright and excited. Henri got into his car and pulled his phone out to see Isaac had sent him a few texts with some names and numbers that would be looking for company. The happiness he’d felt escaped him all at once. Henri drove home, fingers tapping the wheel, and hoped that Julian was feeling okay enough to talk. 

The door creaked when he opened it and Julian appeared at the top of the stairs, thin arm reached out for the rail. “Hey,” He said softly. That was a good sign. Sometimes Henri got home and had to search him out, finding Julian sitting on the mattress staring into nothing or sleeping. Sometimes, he got home and Julian wasn’t home at all- those were the worst days. 

“Hey man,” Henri kicked off his boots and walked up the stairs, holding out the box to him, “Wyatt got you some wings,” 

Julian took it from him and immediately opened it- Henri watched his eyes go wide and knew the entire thing was worth it. He just had to find a way to make Julian see that Wyatt moving in was worth it, too, which was going to be the real challenge. That was if Wyatt even wanted to after seeing the place- he had said it jokingly, but it truly _was_ a shit heap, and he could only hope Wyatt had low standards. Henri’s chest tightened; there were so many roadblocks to swerve around, he knew that sometime soon he was going to crash.

Instead of dwelling on it, he hopped in the shower while Julian ate and rejoined him shortly after in the bedroom. He noticed right away despite the low light in the room- there was a dark bruise- in fact, a smattering of them over Julian’s left forearm, all fingertips and the pressure of a much larger hand. Henri was hit with such an onslaught of nausea that he paused in the doorway, hair still dripping onto his forehead. 

Drawn like a magnet, Henri sank down onto the bed in front of Julian, who’d long since finished eating and had set the empty container aside. “Hey,” Henri gently took his wrist and turned his arm to inspect the damage. “Julian,” 

“I can help, too,” Julian mumbled. “The money’s on the counter in the kitchen.” He didn’t meet Henri’s eyes.

“Just leave that to me-” Henri started, but Julian looked up at him and the words wavered and died partway out of his mouth. Julian knew they were struggling and there was no way Henri could fool him into a false sense of security, and nor should he, if he was being honest. He sighed and let his grip slide to Julian’s hand and squeezed it. “Listen, I have an idea and I want you to hear it out, okay?”

“Okay,” Julian played with the blanket with his other hand, fidgety and nervous. 

“This co-worker of mine, Wyatt, is a really good dude. He’s been really nice to me, let me have some of his lunches, and he’s looking for a place to stay. He makes more than I do so we could afford furniture and food if he moved in.” Julian’s expression was dangerously unchanged. Henri had figured he’d be more upset about this than he was, but he could be wrong- it was hard to tell with Julian sometimes. But his gut told him no, there’s _no way_ Julian’s okay with this. “I invited him to come and see the place tomorrow,” He added cautiously. “Is this… Okay with you?”

Something flickered across Julian’s face, a stray emotion that he hadn’t managed to catch before it was gone. He pursed his lips, tilted his head down to look at the bed, face somewhat obscured by his hair. “Yeah,” He mumbled. “We need food.” 

“Yeah, but if you don’t want anyone else here, that’s okay. It can be just us, I can figure it out.” But he was sure Julian knew just as well as he did that this was a lie. Julian squeezed his hand and had the good grace not to call him on it, just looked up at him instead and shrugged his thin shoulders. 

“It’ll be okay,” Julian breathed out slowly and shakily. “Right?” 

“Right,” Henri nodded and drew the younger kid into a hug, letting Julian wrap his arms around his waist and hold onto his shirt for a moment of childish comfort. He couldn’t begrudge that. If he was being honest, he needed this too, because it felt like he was barrelling ever-forward with no idea what he was doing.

If he got very lucky (and Henri was historically a very unlucky guy) this might work out.


	8. welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt moves in to the Brackley house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anotherrrr!
> 
> CW: Mentions of alcoholism, other than that this is a pretty fluffy chapter!

Henri seemed like a good guy, and Wyatt had decided that upon first meeting him. He’d walked up, held out a hand, and introduced himself. He ignored Henri’s nervous glancing and inability to meet his eyes, and he’d focused on telling jokes and chatting while he worked, let Henri talk at his own pace. That was the important piece, Wyatt knew, letting them come to it on their own. He wasn’t much older than Henri, being only nineteen, but he’d been the new kid not long ago, too. Besides, he knew the jokes the older fellas made about him being dumb. Most of the new guys joined in, but sometimes, if Wyatt talked to ‘em first, they’d only laugh along and not come up with punchlines. 

Henri took to him a little quicker than most did, and even a month or so after he started, they still talked. Wyatt had tried not to get ahead of himself, asking Henri out to get wings, but Henri had said yes and they’d gone. It was nice. He heard more about Henri, talked more about himself, and Henri had opened up about the house. Richard had said he let Henri rent the spot, and Wyatt had replied, “Wait, not the Brackley street one?” 

“What other properties do I own, Wy? I ain’t made of money.” Richard had said. Wyatt had been around when Richard bought the place, said he was going to flip it and never did, he knew the kind of wreck Henri was living in. But when Henri offered to let him move in, Wyatt still leaped at the chance- it was a fixer upper, but he was sure they could spruce it up.

The gravel rumbled under his truck’s tires as he pulled up to the Brackley house. Wyatt remembered it dimly from when Richard first bought it; it seemed, after sitting for a couple years, it didn't look much better than it had back then. He had promised to keep the fact Richard had told him about this under-wraps, though, so when he rolled up to the house behind Henri's lil' beater, he got out of the car and abruptly proclaimed, "That's kinda a shit heap, man,"

Henri exited his vehicle (a really, really sad and decrepit-looking thing) as well, and he seemed to look tired as ever. Wyatt worried about it sometimes when he was at home drinking beer with his dad, and he couldn't seem to shake it on the job site either.

Richard told him bits and pieces of the story, but Wyatt didn’t need the full thing.

They walked up the yard which was riddled with wide rough trees, and up to the house itself. The steps threatened to give way beneath his weight (he wasn't surprised, he had always been a big dude- both in height and width) he stepped off them quickly to avoid the uneasy feeling it brought on and stepped inside after Henri.

"One sec," Henri said over his shoulder, and off he was going up the stairs, leaving Wyatt alone in the dingy entryway. One set of stairs, the ones Henri had gone up, led to the second floor, and the stairs on the left led down to the basement. He could see the stained carpet leading away around a corner down there, but before he could see much else, Henri was looking over the half-wall at him. "Sorry," He said, an easy grin on his face, "just letting Julian know we have someone over. C'mon,"

"No problem, man!" Wyatt took the stairs two at a time, grinning back at Henri, before he looked about the second floor.

It was about the same as he remembered it. Richard had him over the first night, asked if he had been game to help him work on it, but they’d never found the time. Like the old car lots growing over with weeds, the house had sat, and now Wyatt got to see it with fresh eyes (and a lot more job experience.) The living room was to the immediate left, completely empty, with a nice bay window that could really use a bench built into it. The kitchen was dead ahead, and to the right was a hall that had two of four bedrooms and the bathroom. He tried to look surprised as possible, ‘cause Henri had no way of knowing he’d been in here before.

So, he wandered from room to room with Henri following after with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, and as he turned into the kitchen he noticed another kid- must be Julian. "Heya! I'm Wyatt," He introduced himself cheerily, because first impressions were important, but it didn't quite have the effect he expected. 

Julian was young, he realized. Probably fifteen, tops, and long-haired, pale olive skin and sunken eyes. He looked even more tired than Henri, and Wyatt didn't know that was possible. "Uh," Henri interjected Julian's utter silence. "He's… Quiet." 

"Yeah," Wyatt shrugged, "that's okay, I was a shy kid too!" Who's to blame him? He wasn’t hurt or anything, he just went back to opening cupboards and peeking in them. They were older, country-style, a orangey wood that Wyatt knew he’d want to sand down and re-stain. 

He knew what the bedrooms looked like, but he let Henri guide him through anyway, especially in the room where one of the windows had been broken. Even Wyatt, who’d never prided himself on his ability to read folks, knew that Henri hadn’t really wanted him to open this door. Wyatt left quick, didn’t want to make Henri anymore uncomfortable, and after the grand tour was over, they stopped in the living room.

Wyatt put his hands on his hips, and turned in a slow circle around the room. “Well,” He started. “She’s got good bones, y’know?”

A sudden laugh burst from Henri, one that Wyatt was sure Henri hadn’t even expected. “Yeah man, I like to think so,” He ran his hands over his thighs once, and then twice, Wyatt almost missed how they were shaking because of it. 

For a moment, Wyatt thought about his Dad on the couch, with a beer in his hand and his eyes on the TV. He thought about how every night for the past week, after making dinner, he’d sat down with a beer, too. An uncomfortable feeling bloomed in his chest, and before he knew it, he was nodding slowly. “Yeah,” He focused on Henri again. “I’m game if you are?”

Henri looked alarmed, and then incredulous. “Wait- really?” His voice had an edge of something Wyatt didn’t know how to name. It was close to worry, but not quite right. 

“Yeah! She’s a fixer-upper, I kinda always wanted a project like that,” Wyatt looked at the walls once more. “I mean, a fresh coat of paint, get a carpet cleaning crew through, I bet it’ll look a lot better!” There was something unreadable about Henri for a moment, but he grinned, and he agreed. Wyatt felt a little loose, a little like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he didn’t feel like he was sitting on the couch for another night. He didn’t know what that meant but he knew it was something different, and maybe that was all he needed. 

As Wyatt turned to leave, he saw Julian haunting the hallway, peeking out at them with his sunken owl’s eyes. Henri passed by him first and joined the younger of the two, said something quietly to him under his breath. Julian’s eyes went a little wide, and then he turned and disappeared into one of the rooms again. It was such a private moment that Wyatt looked away, pretended he hadn’t seen, but when he left he thought about it the entire drive home.

He told his Ma that night that he was going to be moving out in a week, and she cried, but she was happy for him overall. Wyatt had something complicated and tangled like fishing line in his chest and he didn’t know how to unwind it, but she put her hand on his own, and he guessed that he’d kinda have to be okay with it. He made the decision now, there was no going back. 

“They’ve got no furniture,” He said, over chopping carrots as she draped steaks into a cast iron pan. “They don’t even have a bed, Ma, they’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor. They’ve been eating ramen.” She tutted under her breath, and promised him he could take his pick from the den downstairs, and that his Dad would just have to deal with it. 

Wyatt didn’t know if he liked that answer, but he agreed with it. Henri and Julian needed that place to be more like a home- hell, so did he! It was important. 

\---

The weekend they chose to move crawled up on him before he was really prepared for it, the more he packed the more stuff he realized needed packed. He’d spent all his nights shoving stuff into boxes, anything from his own belongings to extra plates and mish-mashed Christmas presents or flea market finds that were still living in their boxes downstairs. He snagged a crockpot, half a dozen pillows, blankets and spare sheets, anything he could think of taking, he took. Ma helped, pointed out that those boys would need toiletries, and she bought a few things and told him to say they’d had them laying around.

When Henri arrived in his own car and saw what Wyatt had already loaded out onto the front porch, his eyes went wide. “Heya Henri!” Wyatt stood up from where he’d been stooping to put down another box and sauntered down the mossy lawn to bump fists with him, a gesture Henri hadn’t been prepared for, but honored nonetheless. “Ready to go? I got a lotta’ stuff, my Ma wanted to get rid of a lot,” It was the script he’d worked out last night, but it seemed to calm some of Henri’s nerves.

Before he could really say much else, his Ma was leaning out the front door. “Hi boys!” She called. “I’ll let your father know to come and help,”

“Nah!” Wyatt called back quickly. “Just let him relax, we got it.” He watched her shrug, and return into the house before he turned back to Henri, feeling as though he’d dodged a bullet. “Where’s Julian?” He asked, after noticing that he wasn’t in the car.

“Not really his scene,” Henri said smoothly. Wyatt didn’t ask, instead, they just set to work.

They used Henri’s car for boxes, and the back of Wyatt’s truck for furniture. They wrangled his dresser and bed frame first, and when Henri saw the two beat up couches he planned on taking, he stopped for a moment in the doorway. “What’s up?” Wyatt asked, “Need a break?”

“No,” Henri replied quickly. “Just- are you allowed to take this?”

“Oh yeah,” Wyatt stood up straight and used the collar of his shirt to dab sweat from his face. “Ma wants it gone, don’t worry,” Henri still looked worried. But, he stooped to pick up one end of the couch and, red-faced, they carried it and the other one to his truck. With every new item Wyatt carried down the stairs or pointed out to Henri to grab, he got quieter and more pensive, further away and harder to talk to. He knew something was wrong but he didn’t know what it was, so he just kept moving things and hoped it’d pass. 

By the time the day was over, the Brackley house looked a little more like a home. The couches were arranged in the living room, the entertainment stand that Wyatt had fished out of the basement was on display along with the TV from his room, and his PlayStation that he hadn’t really had time to use for anything other than Netflix. The kitchen was mostly stocked with plates, but he only had one spatula, and a few sad pots and pans that he would want to replace soon. He snagged a foldable table and some old rickety chair too, which would have to do for now. What’s most important is that he took a folding metal bed frame for Henri’s room and a few space heaters to use until they could fortify the windows better. 

It still looked shitty, but it looked livable, less empty and cold. Wyatt was satisfied for now, but he was too bone-tired to make dinner. By the time they were done, Julian had wandered out of the bedroom and nervously made some ramen and rice. “Thanks, dude,” Wyatt said, and he felt a pang of guilt when Julian jumped a little from the noise.

The three of them sat in the living room surrounded by their day’s work, and Wyatt turned on the TV. “See? Toldja with a little bit of furniture and some TLC, the place will look fantastic, y’know? It’s not gonna be bad for so long!” When he looked back at Henri, he was eating, but he was fidgeting and nodding along with Wyatt’s words, tired eyes fixed on the screen before them. 

Next to him, Julian was already asleep. He’d almost spilled his ramen before Henri caught it and set it on the table in front of him, and something about the ease of it left Wyatt feeling lonely. Julian was curled half into Henri’s side and completely asleep, crashed and burned. They were a pair, he just didn’t know what kind yet. “He must be tired,” Wyatt said quietly.

“He doesn’t sleep much,” Henri replied. “Bad dreams.” 

Wyatt had nightmares sometimes, so he nodded sagely. “Yeah man, that sucks. At least he’s got lots of cozy spots now, y’know? That way you don’t have to share a room anymore,”

Henri nodded, and he smiled, but he didn’t smile all the way. “Yeah.” He looked like he had something caught in his throat for a second and swallowed hard, but Wyatt didn’t pry. He didn’t have words sometimes too. 

None of them stayed up much later, but as Wyatt said goodnight, he noticed Henri rousing Julian and guiding him into the same bedroom again. Somehow, he’d expected someone to sleep on the couch, but they were going off to bed together. It rubbed him the wrong way, but he didn’t say anything. He furrowed his brows and went to bed instead, trying to sleep with the unfamiliar shadows cast across his room.

\--

It was Saturday morning, and Wyatt wanted to sleep in after the long day of moving yesterday, but instead, he got up and left the house with one thing in mind: food. Getting a better look at Henri in a t-shirt drove home the realization that both he and Julian hadn’t been eating well enough at all, and if there was anything Wyatt was determined to do, it was to feed the both of them. He grabbed a cart and stocked it full, vegetables and snacks, meats and basics like milk, flour, sugar, garbage bags, soap. If he saw it and thought it might be useful, he tossed it in the cart, and he carried all almost a dozen bags back to his truck feeling accomplished. 

The Brackley house was a short drive away, so he was home before Henri and Julian were even up- or at least before Henri was. When he struggled up the stairs with the impressive (and circulation-smothering) amount of bags looped on his arms, Julian stood in the kitchen looking like a deer in the headlights. “Heya,” Wyatt said, huffing slightly from the effort, and set the mess of groceries down on the table and floor. “Just gettin’ stocked up, y’know? All the essentials!”

Julian looked fretful, a muscle in his jaw and one in his neck both bounced with anxious energy. Slowly, he strayed past Wyatt and down the hall again. Wyatt tried to let it not sting a little, so he preoccupied himself with emptying all the odds and ends into cupboards and drawers, and into the rattling old fridge. It took him a minute to notice Henri, gaping in the doorway, face pale. “Hey Henri! I’m makin’ dinner tonight, y’all are gonna love it-- hey man, you okay?”

“This is… so much food, Wyatt,” Henri’s voice was small and far away. Julian was near, too, staring at it all with the same expression. Wyatt suddenly felt a flash of danger, or guilt, like he’d done something wrong that he didn’t understand. 

“Uh… Yeah, I mean, we had none.” Wyatt mumbled stupidly, and he set down the second box of cereal he had been about to stock into the cupboard. He felt awkward.

“It’s just-” Henri flinched from Julian’s hand on his back, Wyatt saw it, saw he was freaking out a bit. “It’s a lot of money.”

“Well, I-” Wyatt began, but Henri had passed him and went out the kitchen door onto the deck and down the stairs. He looked back at Julian with his brows drawn together, a squirmy feeling in his chest. “Is he okay?”

Julian didn’t respond with words, but his eyes had never left the bags, and Wyatt just slowly went back to unpacking and pretended he didn’t feel any better or worse than he had when he got home. 

When he finished, he almost let himself be convinced not to talk to Henri, but he stepped out of the door onto the deck. Henri was at the bottom of the stairs, Wyatt could see him bouncing anxiously from here, and the smell of cigarette smoke wafted up to him. For a moment, Wyatt wanted to turn around and forget about it, because the likelihood was that he was going to make a fool of himself, he was gonna say the wrong thing and piss Henri off or hurt his feelings. But he wanted this to work out, and Henri looked up at him now anyway, so he descended with a certain amount of apprehension and kept his eyes away from his new roommate.

“We were fucking homeless, Wyatt,” Henri spat out the words suddenly, and for a second, Wyatt thought he was mad. But when he finally looked up at Henri again, his fingers were trembling around the cigarette, jaw set hard in place and eyes glistening a little more than usual. “I’ve been homeless since I was fifteen, two whole years. I don’t even know how long it’s been for Julian. I just--” He sucked in a breath, took another drag. 

“Oh,” Wyatt felt stupid. He looked down, kicked the snowy dirt idly. “I uh… M’sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Henri’s voice was dragged through gritted teeth. He was shaking all over, and Wyatt didn’t think it was from the cold. "It's not your fault,"

“Want a hug?” Wyatt offered lamely. He regretted it after he said it, but Henri let out a snort, and it wasn’t derisive, it was just disbelieving.

“Sure,” He replied flippantly. He gave a little start when Wyatt wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him into it. Henri jutted his arm up to hold the cigarette away from him, and maybe it was ‘cause of Wyatt’s chub, but he could feel every bone in Henri’s body as he relaxed slowly but surely. Finally, he heaved a sigh. 

“So… What are you making for dinner?” Henri mumbled into his chest.

Wyatt let him go, and he grinned. “Somethin’ real good.”

Wyatt let the boys root through what he had bought before dinner. As Henri glanced through it all, he told Wyatt that they’d have a budgeting conversation later. Somehow, Wyatt’s worries were soothed just a little, especially when both Henri and him were suddenly notified of Julian sneaking behind them when the two hands he had on a family size bag of potato chips crinkled it, and then he disappeared. Wyatt imagined a comical Julian-shaped cloud in the space he’d left behind. 

Henri shrugged, but he was smiling. “He’s kind of-”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Wyatt waved the explanation off, and then went on with showing Henri where he had put things so he knew where to find it all. Henri’s smile didn’t fade this time. 

Henri and Julian crashed on the couch, browsing through Netflix’s selection of movies and talking quietly in the next room (for the most part, Wyatt heard Julian’s potato chip munching, and Henri’s commentary) as he prepped dinner. He cut up carrots and other root vegetables, stuff that would really stand to fill them up, and tossed them in some salt and pepper before sticking them in the oven to roast with the main course. The longer he cooked, the more attention he seemed to garner.

Before he knew it, Julian and Henri were hovering around the entry to the kitchen with hungry eyes. Wyatt turned to look over his shoulder as he pulled what he’d been roasting out of the oven. “If you wanna come sit and set the table that’s cool?” 

It was Henri that moved first, opening the cupboards to grab plates while Julian skirted the wall to the table and sat down to watch every movement. He was a weird little dude, but Wyatt wasn’t bothered, he knew they’d been through the ringer. “It won’t be long now!” He called over his shoulder as he mashed potatoes and added a good chunk of butter, which is what his Ma had always said. A good chunk could be a tablespoon or three, depending on the recipe, and it was up to you to know which was which. It was clear he’d done well, though, because Henri leaned over the oven next to him to get a whiff of it all cooking up.

“That smells so fucking good, Wyatt,” His tone was almost comedically wanton. 

Wyatt laughed, though, “Hell yeah it does, my Ma raised me right!” 

When it was finally finished, Wyatt dished up for them. He made sure the other two got the lion’s share, though there was plenty to go around. Mashed potatoes, cheap packet gravy, brown sugar and butter carrots, and pork chops roasted in canned soup, which made ‘em real nice and tender. He set down the plates in front of the two of them and couldn’t help but be alarmed at how quickly Julian put away the whole thing and eyed the stove for extras. Henri, meanwhile, was quiet and Wyatt pretended not to notice a few tears that flicked down his cheeks. 

“S’real good,” He said thickly, whether from emotion or the heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes he’d shoved into his mouth, it was hard to say. 

“Good! I mean, I knew it would be,” Wyatt also talked around a mouthful, which is a habit he hadn’t really conquered yet, but neither of them were chiding him for it. 

Julian got up anxiously and went to the stove to get more. “Might wanna take it easy,” Henri said. Julian looked back at him, face pleading without words. “Just the potatoes, okay? I just don’t want you feeling sick, it’s really rich.” Wyatt noticed how Henri’s voice dropped into something soft and kind when he spoke to Julian, a tone that never came up at work, or anywhere else. Julian obliged, and came back with what was likely the rest of the potatoes on his plate and ate it all. 

Henri’s cheeks were bright pink, maybe from warmth, but definitely from food. Julian, without much shame, scooped every trace of food off of his plate like he’d never get another meal. But he would. If Wyatt couldn’t contribute with brains, he knew he could contribute with his hands, the only thing he knew how to do.


	9. like the dawn, you broke the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Henri spend some quality time together in the midst of trying to adjust to Wyatt being a part of their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mental health fuckery, strong allusions to child abuse, graphic nightmares.

Henri had said Wyatt would help them, his contribution would mean they had more money, but Julian wasn’t sure about it. He felt disjointed and uncomfortable around Wyatt, for all his size and his volume, he was used to Henri’s quiet nature and gentleness. Henri was right, though, they had furniture and food suddenly with Wyatt’s arrival, given freely just because he was living there. He and Henri had stared wide-eyed as the house transformed before them, still stained, sagging, and chipped, but full of things that they would never have been able to afford on their own. As much as he crept around Wyatt and squirmed under his attention, he knew that Wyatt was a necessity they couldn’t live without.

Maybe it wasn’t Wyatt that Julian disliked, but rather walking on eggshells again. Either way, he wasn’t so sure. A childhood of closed doors had taught him to tip-toe, and a year of homelessness had taught him to be unnoticeable until he wanted to be, and Henri had taught him-- something. Julian still felt like there was something wrong inside him. Wyatt did not help that. What would they do if he had a meltdown and scared Wyatt off? It wasn’t an option.

So, Julian ate every scrap on his plate every single time Wyatt made dinner, and he snuck out of Henri’s bedroom during the night to get more snacks, only to sneak back in before he was seen, or if Henri was sleeping, he’d hide out in the bathroom and eat there so no one would find him. Most of all, he tried to be as okay as possible and not concern either of them.

On the first grocery shop that Wyatt did, Julian spied the cleaning supplies he’d brought home. It was all the basics anyone would need (he said that a lot, “Just getting all the basic stuff, Henri,”) and Julian knew that if he couldn’t go to work like Wyatt and Henri, he could at least make the house nicer for all of them. They left for work at four AM, and Julian got up after the house had stilled enough that he was convinced they were gone, and he fished the supplies out from under the kitchen sink and set to work.

The day went on in a blur. Julian didn’t take any pills, though he wanted to, instead he put a show on in the background (the sound was comforting) and vacuumed, scrubbed, dusted every inch of the house he could reach. The stains on the back door lifted slowly, but he got them out, and the sinks were all scrubbed until shining, the dirt and dust removed from the corners of the counter tops, objects removed from cupboards so he could clean underneath them and then replaced. At the end of it all, Julian got in the shower that still reeked of bleach from his work, and turned the water on boiling hot until he was sure it was his skin dripping off of him and not just water. For the first time in months, (it felt like for the first time he could remember) he showered with good soap and shampoo, letting the sharp fragrances almost drown out the bleach as he cleaned the last dirty thing left in the house (although he was sure the stains left on him would never be removed.) 

When he left the bathroom, clothed in something clean of Henri’s, Henri and Wyatt were lingering dumbstruck in the kitchen. Julian slipped down the hall, aware of their voices and movements in the next room, and he rounded the corner into the kitchen as he watched Wyatt peeking over the top of the fridge to see if that, too, had been dusted (it had.) Henri noticed him first and said, “Julian, did you do all this?”

Wyatt turned now, too, and Julian shrank just a little against the wall. “Yeah,” He mumbled. “Thought it’d be nice.” 

Henri wrapped him up in a hug right away and ruffled his hair, and Julian felt safer so suddenly that when Henri let go, he even let Wyatt ruffle his hair as well. 

“Aw kid, that was real nice of ya!” Wyatt itched the back of his neck, Julian wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat that wafted off the both of them. “I’m gonna make dinner soon,” 

“Shower first,” Julian mumbled, and Henri snorted, giving him a gentle shove. 

If anything would win Julian over for Wyatt, it was his food. Julian wolfed down the chicken breast he made and all the vegetables with it before Henri or Wyatt had finished. “Remind me to start makin’ bigger portions for you, kiddo,” Wyatt said, but Julian didn’t get up for seconds. Henri glanced over his shoulder and held out the pot full of peas towards him, but Julian shook his head despite the fact that he was sure he could have eaten it all by himself. Henri needed more food, and Wyatt was easily double their size, so Julian refrained, because they were the ones working. Something nervous quivered in his chest. He felt like he’d already been too greedy with what he’d been given.

Henri did the dishes as Wyatt went off to watch some TV, and Julian strayed closer to the sink to lean on the counter next to Henri. “Hey,” Henri smiled at him, scrubbing one of the last of the plates. “Thanks again for cleaning, you doing okay?”

Julian nodded, arms crossed over his stomach, fingers worrying at a scab on his elbow. 

“Are you sure?” Henri prompted again.

He wanted to say that he wished it could just be him and Henri, that he could keep working or maybe get a real job, but Henri had been more relaxed recently. He napped on the couch and watched movies and talked to Wyatt, happy, and no matter what Julian felt he couldn’t ruin that. Besides, how would they afford anything? Where would all the furniture go? Julian sighed softly, “Yeah,” He replied. Henri looked worried, but he didn’t press any further.

“Maybe later we can go out for a little while, just us?” He offered, his head turned back to the sink, focused again on what he was doing. 

Julian’s heart lurched, and his head snapped to the side to look at Henri again. His hair was still wet from his shower, and he too smelled like the soap Julian had used. “Please?” He asked softly, and suddenly felt like he might be about to throw up, like all the food he’d eaten had turned to insects inside him. Asking for things felt wrong, felt like he was encroaching, even though Henri had offered. But then Henri turned to look at him again and the feeling melted away, like with just a glance he’d been restored. 

“Yeah man, of course,” It was so easy. Henri smiled tiredly, but the heart was there, it was always there.

Julian swallowed thickly when he heard Wyatt laugh from the other room and pretended he hadn’t when Henri looked over at him. In a brave moment, Julian pushed off from the counter and strayed cautiously into the living room. A blanket from the other night had been thrown over the love seat across from Wyatt, and so he curled up under it as some shitty movie played on the TV, casting the dim living room in a hazy colourful glow. “D’you want me to restart it? It’s not far from the beginning,” Wyatt offered, and Julian shook his head before resting it on the pillowed arm of the couch. 

Not long later, Henri joined them, and he chose the love seat (despite being more cramped) over the couch with Wyatt and Julian felt just a little more comforted by his presence. 

\--

Julian pressed his cheek to the worn pillowcase Wyatt had brought. It smelled faintly of shampoo, and sweat, but mostly of Henri- a comforting concoction that spoke of the house they were in. Proof that they had walls around them and a roof over their head. He’d spent most of the day in their room, curled up, or peeking out the window, which is how he’d spent most of his days since Wyatt had moved in. Henri had joined him briefly when he got home, but had eventually gone out to spend time with Wyatt, and left the door open just a little. From here, Julian could hear him and Wyatt talking about work, someone who had been acting like an asshole apparently. 

Julian was a good listener. He was attentive. The buzzing in his ears stopped when he heard their tones lower, soft, whispering. _Secrets._ A wriggling, awful feeling filled him as he slowly rose from the bed and slipped towards the door to get as close to the noise as possible. Neither of them heard him, but their conversation became more audible.

“It’s not like that,” Henri was saying, disgust evident in his tone. 

“I don’t mean-” Wyatt, defensive and awkward. 

“No, it’s fine, but it isn’t like that. He just likes to share a room.” Henri’s voice was also defensive, and Julian felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. “Look, he was in a bad spot when I found him. He likes it, I like it, nothing weird is going on, I promise.” 

Julian heard little of the rest, because he slid down to the floor and gripped his hair in two hands until he felt like he might be peeling his scalp off with how hard he was tugging it. _He didn’t want things to change._ But what if Wyatt thought Henri and him were doing something? What if Wyatt told someone? What if Wyatt didn’t want to live here anymore? 

It wasn’t an option. He didn’t know how he’d sleep alone, but he knew he had to try. After sleeping next to someone, next to Henri, the thought of being alone again was far too crushing to want to touch. Julian pushed it away, pressed it down, refused to think about it any longer. That night, as they hung out in the living room watching Netflix, Julian’s heart was beating too fast. Fighting against his own instincts, he slowly leaned into the cushions and closed his eyes. If it looked like he’d fallen asleep, maybe Henri wouldn’t try to wake him. Maybe it’d be easier this way, he hoped. 

But of course, it wasn't. When the other two became tired, he felt Henri’s hand on his bicep trying to rouse him gently. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing as even as he could and, eventually, Henri left. Julian wanted so badly to go with him, curl up in their bed, feel Henri’s breathing next to him. He felt cold and alone, the strange shadows of the house casting shapes that his eyes would play with, form and turn against him, monsters and people both equally terrifying. He squeezed his eyes shut, drew the blanket up to his chin, and tried his best to sleep.

\--

A few days of Julian’s careful game went by. Henri gave him long concerned looks which tried to invite conversation, and Julian couldn’t meet them, because if he did, he’d only want Henri to tell him it was alright. He wanted Henri to dispel his worries and reassure him, to convince him that this was a risk they could allow- but he knew better. He could do this if it meant Henri and him could have food and furniture, even if Wyatt hovered around every corner. 

Besides, he didn’t know if Henri noticed that Julian was awake more often than not when Henri snuck out at night. Julian knew better than anyone what he was doing for a few extra dollars, and he sorely wished he was waiting for Henri in bed, so he could soothe the shakes that always came for him when he was home. Julian wanted to tell him that they didn’t have to do that anymore, but the words always turned to dust before they could come out, and he was left with the lingering ache in his chest instead, and Henri’s shuffling step burned into his mind.

Julian sat up abruptly from the couch, gasping himself awake. The same old nightmare was curling away like burning paper, eventually nothing but ash, eventually nothing at all except the lingering shapes slowly fading from the room around him. Wyatt appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking at him with concern. “You okay?” Julian pressed himself back against the couch like a cornered animal and clenched his jaw shut, which didn’t help him get air, and his head began to spin and spin. 

“Julian,” 

_Henri._ He came out of the bedroom and crossed into the living room quickly, sitting next to Julian on the couch, winding an arm around him and pulling him in. Julian tried not to completely lean into his body, letting the wheezy breaths escape him unevenly, tried to keep some semblance of distance. He could feel Wyatt’s gaze stuck on him. “Hey man, you’re alright,” Henri’s voice was low and sweet, and Julian could remember how it felt against his cheek, gentle rumbles in Henri’s chest. His hand squeezed Julian’s upper arm gently. “Let’s eat breakfast, then we’ll go out, just us?” 

When Julian looked up, he didn’t realize he hadn’t been looking at anything, that his eyes had been completely robbed from him for a moment. His gaze slid over their living room, the worn old couches and scratched up table, and settled on Henri’s face: chaotic freckles, purple rings under his eyes, brows drawn tight in concern. “Please,” Julian whispered, and a smile graced Henri’s features. 

“Yeah? Sweet,” Henri squeezed him one more time and got up, and after a few moments, Julian followed him. As they walked past Wyatt where he stood in the kitchen door, Julian skirted closer to the wall than to him, and sat at the furthest seat at the table while Henri fetched them plates and Wyatt went back to cooking. He couldn’t help but notice the way Wyatt’s face was drawn tight, eyes a little wide, nose scrunched in thought. It was worry, maybe. 

Julian wasn’t comforted, per say, by the worried look- it was ill-fitting. Why would Wyatt be worried about him? Why would anyone be except Henri? 

When Julian was feeling bad, when his thoughts were getting the best of him, he wondered sometimes why Henri cared. But when those thoughts happened, he was always able to roll over and press closer to Henri at night, arms pulling him in by instinct. Except, of course, now he couldn’t do that either. 

Henri placed breakfast in front of him (toast, eggs, and sausage) and Julian ate it quickly, while Henri and Wyatt ate slower. “So, uh,” Wyatt began, and Julian paused his chewing to stare as the bigger guy continued, “you guys gonna go have some Henri-Julian time?” 

“Yeah,” Henri replied, and Julian could hear the excitement in his tone. A shivery and feeble kind of excitement bubbled in him, too, because Henri was infectious and always had been. 

“What are you gonna get up to?” Wyatt asked around a large bite of toast and egg. 

Henri’s grin was so sharp it could have cut Julian open from collarbone to hip, and he said, “Trouble, I imagine,”

God, did Julian hope so.

Henri wolfed down the last of his food and they set their plates in the sink, promising that they would wash them later, and they got changed into warmer clothes then stepped out the front door into the crisp January air. It was the first time in weeks they’d been alone, other than when they’d been sleeping, but Henri was always so exhausted that Julian let him sleep rather than keep him up to talk. 

But now, with their breath turning to vapor around them (multiplying, he saw cloudy swirls filling the air) and Henri’s hair poking out from under his beanie, his grin wide, looking over his shoulder back at Julian. It felt familiar, oddly so, from their time before Brackley. Almost nostalgic, but in the way that ached somewhere deep and vital. Julian hurried to keep up and walked alongside Henri with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets to keep the chill from consuming them. 

Somewhere, he felt the nightmare clawing at his mind. But Henri began to tell him a story, and Julian loved those, so the thoughts began to loosen and get left in the air with their breath, floating and harmless. 

“Mama’s?” Henri gestured. Julian had blinked, and at some point, they’d ended up in downtown Redcove, with it’s shabby storefronts all blanketed in wet snow and ice. Mama’s, which was perhaps the nicest of them all, had icicles hanging off of it’s bright red neon sign. Julian frowned a moment.

“Do we have enough money for that?” He asked. Henri grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. 

“We have enough for some coffee or hot chocolate,” He replied. The warmth of the diner swept them up: the smell of grease and hashbrowns and a dozen other delicious things that made Julian’s mouth water despite just eating. They slid into their usual booth with practiced ease, and Julian scooped the little creamers out of the dish to make a pyramid of them while Henri ordered them coffees.

He could tell Henri was watching him, and it wasn’t uncomfortable, but he knew it would be soon. Julian felt watched and known in awful little ways, all the same ways he knew he had to hide from Wyatt, from anyone that wasn’t Henri. “How have you been holdin’ up?” Henri asked, and Julian didn’t look at him, just stared at his pyramid. 

“Okay,” He replied. 

“Yeah? You’ve been sleeping on the couch a lot,” Henri took the top of the pyramid away as a waitress placed two steaming mugs of coffee with the pot down next to them. Julian watched his hands (pink from cold, scarred from fights, tattooed from stick-n-pokes) rip the creamer open and dump it in. 

“Yeah,” Julian’s throat felt thick. He wrapped his hands around his mug and pulled it closer to himself, staring into the dark liquid. “... It’s okay,” 

“Is it? Are you sure?” Henri was so worried. Julian could tell. He risked a look up at Henri and found those sharp blue eyes staring into him, through him, gliding through skin and bone like he was a hallucination himself. 

Julian didn’t reply. He emptied three creamers into his coffee instead, and then some sugar. “Just know that you can come back, it’s okay,” His tone was gentle and kind, as it always was with Julian. “Anytime you want, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Julian took a sip of his coffee and let it burn down his throat and into his stomach like molten lava. “You’ve been going out at night sometimes, still,” 

Henri stiffened, Julian could tell, even out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah,” He muttered. “I’m just trying to build a savings account, then I’ll stop,” Julian looked up at Henri through his eyelashes, watching the stoney expression as Henri’s hands fidgeted with the empty creamer cup, for once refusing to meet his. 

“Okay,” Julian murmured.

The silence between them did not last long, as Henri had noticed a rather portly looking man walk in with a fraying plaid coat and- “Gotta love the ‘protect the troops’ hat,” Henri grumbled. The man turned a little when he reached the counter, reaching for his wallet, and betrayed his decision to wear a denim button up the exact shade of his denim jeans, with only a far too big belt buckle to separate the two.

“Denim-on-denim,” Julian hummed in response.

“That belt buckle looks like it belongs on a dive bar wall,” Henri added. They both snickered into their coffee and Julian’s face hurt from smiling, and he hoped Henri’s did too. 

Henri paid for the coffees at the counter as Julian lingered by the door and a small shelf that held an orderly stack of newspapers that he peered at while he waited. The front page was adorned with a man in a button up and tie, posed in front of one of the local churches waving to the camera. The headline said something about a pastor swap event, and that was where it lost Julian’s attention, because Henri was striding up to him. “What are ya looking at?” Henri leaned over to look at the paper too and Julian watched all the colour drain from his face. 

“What?” Julian asked, looking back at it again for something he’d missed. Henri picked it up, held it closer to his face and squinted just a little for details. 

“That- that’s my dad,” Henri’s voice sounded strangled and far away. Julian shifted to stand closer and peer over Henri’s arm, studying the man a little closer. He was ginger, too, like Henri was- but that was where the similarities stopped. He was the kind of fake pristine that Julian had known most people to be before he was homeless. Henri was a burning, tangible effigy, more real than anything he’d ever known. 

“A pastor?” Julian asked. A muscle jumped in Henri’s jaw. It felt like he was spiralling away, Julian had a gutpunch memory of a dingy bathroom and Henri’s shivering hands and far away eyes. “... We could… Vandalize the church?” 

Henri’s gaze tore away from the page. “What?” Julian looked up at him, shoulders shifting in a shrug. But something was lighting up in Henri’s eyes, something chaotic, a familiar but rare kind of energy that sometimes sparked Henri up until he threatened to burst into flame and burn away entirely. Julian felt it too, from proximity to the blaze. “Yeah,” Henri grinned, set the paper down with a smack, “I like that plan.” 

Shoplifting was a practiced routine, one they’d done many times before for essentials. Henri hadn’t wanted them getting caught for anything they didn’t need, even though Julian swiped anything he wanted- so long as it was a big box store. Henri was specific to set the rules: they didn’t steal from places people were actually going to be affected by it. Mom-n-Pop shops like Mama’s never saw their sneaky hands. But Julian’s sneaky hands definitely saw chocolate bars, or a particularly nice beanie he thought Henri would like, or socks that looked warm, or that one very soft blanket he had risked stuffing under his shirt when they had first moved in to Brackley.

They hadn’t taken the car, so they walked to the Walmart fifteen minutes away and slunk through the aisles until they came across what they were looking for. Henri, with a practiced deftness, slipped a can of black spray paint into the inside pocket of his vest. “I wanna make one of those,” Julian mumbled as he tucked a can of red into the waistband of his pants, letting his oversized hoodie fall over it and conceal the shape. Henri grabbed the cheapest roll of tape he could see and they tracked their way back to the tills. 

“Oh yeah?” Henri patted the worn denim. “We can do that,” Julian looked over Henri’s patches, most hand-made, or found in various punk houses or concert scenes from other skids he’d run into. They had insignias from bands Henri liked, but more than that it had angry bold phrases, from ‘kill your local rapist’ to ‘burn the rich’ it was an article of clothing that housed every last one of Henri’s values and passions. Julian had spent a lot of their first weeks together taking in every detail (from terrible stitching to frayed edges) and watched Henri back up every point the vest so loudly made. Julian wished he was brave enough to have everything he was on his sleeve so literally, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be. 

Henri paid for the roll of tape to avoid suspicion and Julian stared at the magazines idly. Needless to say, they got out scot free.

“We should wait until after dark, so we’ve got time to kill,” Henri said as they crossed the parking lot, passing by what Henri called white mom soccer vans. As they crossed back onto the sidewalk, Julian paused, noticing he’d outpaced Henri. The dead shrubbery filled median had a rather sad looking shopping cart tipped onto it and Henri grabbed it by the handle and pulled it up onto the cement again, inspected it briefly and gave it an experimental push. 

“What are you doing?” Julian asked, head tilting as he approached. 

“Finding something to do,” Henri replied, and then he was grinning again, and Julian didn’t know what he had in mind but he knew he was down for it.

They walked along with the rattling cart until Julian put together exactly what Henri had in mind: a few blocks from Brackley was a rather steep hill, still nestled in the suburbs where there wasn’t much, if any, traffic. Henri pushed the cart into the middle of the road and looked back at Julian, breath coming in puffs, cheeks and nose pink from the cold. “Wanna push me?” 

Before Henri could, Julian clambered into the cart and tilted his head back to peek up at him. “You ride the back,” He countered. 

Henri’s face lit up. “Hell yeah!” With a jogging start, he jumped up onto the back of the cart and whooped as they went over the crest of the hill. 

For the first few seconds, it was fantastic. The rush of cold air blew Julian’s hair back, and he grabbed onto the sides of the cart as the vibrating threatened to bounce him out of it. The clanging of the old metal and their laughter rang off the houses around them as they went faster and faster- Henri shouted with pure adrenaline fueled glee, and Julian was about to as well, but they both seemed to realize at the same time that the ancient wheels on this thing were not meant to go quite this fast. 

Neither of them had noticed the slush about halfway down, melted enough from the last snow but not completely gone, and turned greyish brown from the road. The moment the cart hit it, they flipped, Julian squeezed his eyes shut seconds before hitting the cement and rolling across it with the cart itself also bouncing off of his back. The icy concrete bit into his chin, palms, elbows, knees- and at the end of it, he swore and rolled onto his back to stare up at the marble grey sky above.

For a moment, he was seven and hiding in the back of his family’s sprawling garden, tipping his head to the sky, and then he was back and sprawled on the road.

A few feet away, Henri went, “Fuck,” and moments after, he appeared above Julian with concern in his eyes and wet slush stuck to his vest and the entire right side of his body. “You okay?” 

Julian’s face hurt, especially his chin where he’d bashed it, and he was pretty sure his knees were bleeding. Taking in a breath, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at Henri, and then at the cart which had skidded down the hill a bit more and fallen on its side. Finally, he settled back on Henri crouched next to him and said, “Again?” 

Henri tilted his head back for a moment, shook it, and then his laugh came out in a burst. Julian felt his own laugh bubbling from the center of his chest seconds before it broke out into the chilly air and Henri collapsed on top of him, one arm slung around the back of Julian’s neck as they just laughed, only the two of them. The contact gave Julian such a burst of energy that he suddenly didn’t feel the dull sting of his scraped chin and knees, and only felt Henri’s arm around him. After a few moments, Henri righted himself, pushed himself up and held a hand out to Julian. He took it and Henri pulled him to his feet with ease before going to retrieve the cart for round two. 

By the time it was getting dark out, Julian and Henri both had bloody knees, elbows, and palms as well as a smattering of bruises that they both joked Wyatt would ask about when they got home. The cart, which had now proven itself a valued possession, was taken back to Brackley and stowed in the drafty lean-to garage before they headed back out into town to the exact church Henri’s dad had been pictured in front of. 

Redcove, for a town rather small, had six churches, so if you didn’t like one you were bound to find one you did enjoy, a la Goldilocks. Julian didn’t enjoy any church, and as he had guessed, Henri didn’t either- but he was familiar with the one Henri’s dad had been posed with. When he’d been homeless, before Henri had found him, he’d gone there to try and sleep in an alcove out of the wind. It’d been early spring, still painfully cold during the nights, and he had been woken by a pastor with an airhorn, and then told if he didn’t leave, the man would call the cops. Julian had left as fast as he could and sought out a different place to stay.

He told Henri this as they leaned against the trees along the roadside, watching the last of the church goers depart. There was a bitter look on Henri’s face; he took a drag of his cigarette as he watched the people walking to their cars or lingering by the entrance. “Seems like a very Jesus-y thing to do,” His voice was full of sarcasm and vitriol, Julian shoved his cold hands in his pockets and bumped his shoulder against Henri. 

“It’s okay,” He murmured. “We have Brackley now.” 

“I know,” Henri replied, “But that doesn’t make it okay.” 

Julian fell quiet after that, and they lingered in the distance until the church sat undisturbed for some time. “Let’s make it quick, okay?” Henri stubbed out the last of his second cigarette and Julian withdrew the spray paint from his hoodie pocket.

They jogged up to the side of the church and set to work. Julian remembered a few of pastor’s features, namely his straight teeth and well-kept beard, so while Henri was setting to work with the red, Julian began to make broad strokes across the side of the building with quick concentration. It took all his focus; he remembered sketchbooks in his childhood, little things his sister Cassandra would bring home for him to draw on. He hadn’t drawn anything in what felt like years, and he had only spray painted a handful of times, but when he pulled away from his work with paint-stained sleeves, he thought he’d done a good job. 

He noticed that Henri had paused too, and what he’d drawn- or rather wrote- was beginning to run. In big red letters, he’d written, ‘PASTOR THIBAULT IS GOING TO HELL.’ Julian had painted a caricature of Henri’s father’s face; his features comically enlarged, teeth too big but as straight as he could make them look, eyes replaced with big X’s. “I didn’t know you were actually good at this,” Henri said. Julian couldn’t see his face well from his angle, as he was backlit by the lamps by the front doors and the more distant streetlights, but he knew there was some kind of conflict just by his tone. 

“Pass me the red,” Julian caught the can as Henri tossed it. “He needs a finishing touch.” Stretching up onto his tippy toes, he added large curved Devil’s horns, and a tail that led to Henri’s words and curled around the bottom of the phrase. 

Then Henri began to laugh. “This looks so good, hold on,” Julian ducked out of the way as Henri took his phone out and the side of the building lit up with the camera flash as he took a picture. “One with you?” He asked. Julian hesitated- he didn’t like cameras, nor did he really like pictures of himself, but Henri had asked. Awkwardly, he slouched into frame and crouched with the two cans before his work, hood up, face half-covered and hands tucked into his pockets.

Henri took the picture, and then said, “We need to go before we get caught,” Julian snatched up the paint and once they cleared the parking lot and down the street a ways, Henri looked back at him, glee written clearly all over his face, curls bouncing in the long shadows. Julian couldn’t help but laugh and grin too.

The closer they got to Brackley, the more Julian grew quiet. The writhing in his stomach was returning, the time he’d had Henri all to himself was going to come to an end and there was a hot, seeping feeling that kept happening in his chest. Over and over, sinking into the worms in his stomach, fingers digging into the paint-and-blood stained ends of his hoodie. As they wandered up the front steps, Henri paused by the door before opening it and peered at Julian over his shoulder. 

The worry in his eyes made the hot feeling worse, the writhing more prominent, Julian just looked from him to the window above them and saw light from the TV on the ceiling. “Julian,” Henri’s voice cut through the fuzzy panic. Julian still stared up at the light, willing the edges of the window not to blur away, or the ceiling not to move when it wasn’t really moving at all. “Are you okay?” 

Julian nodded. “Cold,”

Henri hesitated a moment longer before he opened the door and they both went inside. 

Julian showered, letting the warm water burn over him and rinse the scrapes of the gravel and blood that had congealed around them. He was so tired. Over the white noise of the shower head, he could hear Henri and Wyatt talking in the living room, and he wanted so badly to slink down the hall into the bedroom and curl up until Henri came to join him. It had been almost a week of nightmares, restless sleep or no sleep at all. He’d been a restless sleeper all his life, especially when he was homeless, what had changed? As he dried himself off, he figured that it wouldn’t be as bad if he didn’t know the difference now. 

Staring in the steamy mirror, Julian observed himself like another person would. The deep purple bags under his eyes, hallowed, pale, the quickly bruising scrape on his chin- he looked like he was sick. He supposed he was, or whoever was in the mirror was, because he was never really sure it was actually him staring back. Julian looked away before it became too much, turned his back to it and got changed into clean clothes and joined Wyatt and Henri in the livingroom. 

“Hey Julian! Didja have fun?” Wyatt asked as Julian sank into the loveseat he’d been sleeping on, pulling the blanket around himself. He nodded, but said little else, feeling his stomach writhe. 

Wyatt’s face contorted into something unsure, and his gaze flickered from Henri back to Julian again. “Well, I’m glad!”

Henri shifted from the couch to sit next to Julian, so he tucked his legs up and let Henri pull the blanket up so it covered him better before he sat down. He rested one of his arms across Julian’s side, and the pressure was so familiar and comforting that he felt his eyes begin to droop as Wyatt and Henri talked while some movie Julian vaguely recognized played in the background. With Henri’s arm across him, it took no time at all for Julian to fall asleep.

And then he was staring up at the sky. 

It wasn’t marble grey like it had been earlier, but deep blue slowly filling the atmosphere, streaks of pink and orange giving way to burning yellows just past the edge of his mother’s rose bushes. The thorns and leaves poking out above him cut into the sky, dark with the shadows of the setting sun, the earth warm beneath him. It was summer, he thought, and he had to be inside by dark. If he was quick getting back, he could stay just a little longer. 

The ground was warm and soft, cupping him like his childhood bed, covers drawn up to his chest. The leaves still twisted above him, roses back lit by that sky, ever-expansive, consuming. He didn’t blink as he stared up into it, felt fingers move over his face but he didn’t see them. He felt pills sliding down his throat, the soft rattle of the bottle, but he didn’t resist. He was tired, curled up, and the sky was so beautiful.

Burning began first in his stomach, and then it was everywhere, and he was sweating, and the oranges and yellows weren’t receding but rather pushing into the rest of the sky when they shouldn’t. A gasp worked its way out of him, and vomit followed once and then again and again, he could hear the sound of the soft breeze in the bushes but also the click of heels on hardwood floors. The opening of his door, and Cassandra’s shrieking cry. 

He tried to breathe, but all that came up was bile, he tried to move, but he was trapped in a gurney and the sky was becoming bright and fiery above him with the blue being taken over, the sun clawing its way back slowly instead of the moon. It flickered like the ceiling lights as he passed under them. He wanted to scream, but he could only hear Cassandra crying and the shrill beeping of machines around him and his body hurt so badly he just wanted it to be over.

Julian woke up to darkness and he almost threw up over the edge of the couch. His heart was racing so quickly that the world tipped and he had to scramble and grab the coffee table to avoid rolling onto the floor. His other hand jammed against his mouth to stifle the gasps and the retching and then the sobs that came shortly after. He was caught viscerally between hoping it was enough noise to wake Henri up, and hoping that he kept on sleeping soundly somewhere else without Julian on his mind.


	10. all the doubts i've faced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "& I continue to face them."
> 
> Henri and Julian dance around Julian's troubles adjusting. Wyatt and Henri have an important discussion about Henri's secret work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: more explicit talk about underage sex / subsequent trauma, boys being shitty at talking about their feelings, mentions of religion and religious-based homophobia.

Wyatt moving in was everything Henri hoped and feared thus far. They had a house full of furniture, at least much more than they’d had before, and Wyatt’s additional funds meant that their kitchen was fully stocked with groceries. They set up wifi, and even started putting money aside for a phone for Julian. But at the same time, Julian became withdrawn and hid in their room until it wasn’t _their_ room anymore. Henri had defended their shared space when Wyatt had expressed his concerns; they were valid things to be concerned about, but the thought of doing things of that nature to Julian made his skin crawl. 

He was here to keep the kid safe and letting him share a bed meant that Julian didn’t have night terrors. If he was being selfish, he could admit it also meant he slept better and longer. It was weird, something he didn’t want to look at too closely, but when Wyatt had asked with that tone and the worried look on his face, Henri had shut down all suspicion. He was sure Julian had overheard them, though. He didn’t see another reason why Julian would have started sleeping on the couch, waking from nightmares almost every night, and developing even heavier rings around his eyes from exhaustion. Henri wanted to tell him, _‘it’s okay, it’s fine, I don’t care what Wyatt thinks-’_ but Julian was fickle and sometimes coming on too strong scared him off. Even more so, if Julian was really just trying to get used to sleeping alone, Henri didn’t want to hinder that. If that was the case, it didn’t matter if Henri wanted him back.

Regardless, he thought this arrangement might be better, and he really hoped Julian would too. Julian lied better with words, but he didn’t lie well with his face, and Henri wasn’t able to unsee the way Julian had refused to meet his eyes at Mama’s. When they’d spray painted Henri’s dad’s likeness on the church and gotten themselves in the newspaper for it the next day. That smallest thing that made Henri feel bold and defiant in the face of that man that had made him homeless in the first place. It was these little ways in which Julian made him feel stronger than he was. Sleeping together was a fraction of that, but it was the best example he had. 

He zoned back in to his conversation with Wyatt quickly, because he’d been prompted several times and had just now heard- “What? Sorry, I zoned out,” 

“Oh, uh- I’m just asking if you remember what the wifi is costing us?” Wyatt had his beat up little laptop propped open on the kitchen table where they could both see it, chrome open on a spreadsheet where they were totaling their income. 

“Uh, 95 I think.” After Wyatt’s shopping spree (and Henri’s subsequent almost-breakdown) they’d agreed to have a budgeting conversation. Henri wasn’t a whiz at it in particular, but he knew how to make a little go a long way, and Wyatt hadn’t really been in a position to have to do that before so it was a bit of a learning curve for the both of them. Seeing the totals alone of both their wages made Henri’s anxiety and excitement kick up. It was more than he could have hoped, and even when their expenses added up, they were making enough to start a small savings fund- after they got Julian a phone, of course. Henri wanted to be in contact with him at all times if possible. He thought that might help Julian, at the very least, and cool off his own anxiety too.

“Okay, that leaves us a good chunk left over every month for like, pizzas or somethin’,” Wyatt peered down at his phone where he’d been looking at his banking app.

“Well, savings first,” Henri cut in. “If we don’t have a savings fund, one broken car could fuck us over,” 

“You mean your broken car could fuck us over?” Wyatt asked, with an edge of amusement in his tone. 

Henri snorted. Out of the two of theirs, his shitmobile was certainly going to be the first going to the big scrap yard in the sky, but that wasn’t the point. “I mean it, what if the place floods or the furnace needs replaced? We’ll need to be prepared for expenses.” 

Wyatt nodded sagely, and Henri was grateful for how compliant he was to this all. So far, there’d been very little they’d argued over- aside from whether or not jam should be refrigerated. If that was to be the very worst of their arguments, Henri was looking forward to the months to come, if only Julian could get into it too. As it had for the past few months Wyatt had lived here, Henri’s concern surrounding Julian raised it's ugly head again.

“Henri?” He focused again, shaking his head a little bit.

“Yeah, sorry-”

“You okay, man? You look like somethin’s bugging you,” Wyatt set his phone down, one hand resting on the screen of the laptop as if about to close it. 

Henri sighed a little and looked over his shoulder towards their bedroom door, in which Julian was most certainly asleep. He’d been awake when Henri had left last night to make a little cash (he’d gotten a tip from Isaac, and it was a good contact he’d have to keep) and had still been awake when he’d returned a few hours later. “It’s just Julian,” He mumbled softly.

“He isn’t sleeping much, huh?” Wyatt shut the laptop, bushy brows drawn together. At work, Wyatt’s hair was normally slick with sweat- it was only at home that Henri now saw it was actually wavy in places and sun bleached different shades all over, hanging over his forehead which wrinkled with worry. 

“Yeah,” Henri sighed. “He gets nightmares really bad,” 

“Oh,” Wyatt frowned. “Is it ‘cause like… I mean- should we stop watching so many horror movies?”

Henri snorted, “Dude, he’s like fourteen or so, the horror movies are fine. It’s just whatever he’s gone through.” What he thought but didn’t say was: _believe me, he’s seen more real horror than anything we could watch._

“Shitty,” Wyatt mumbled in response, and he took on that awkward shift of his shoulders that always came when they talked about things like this. Henri thought, at first, that it’d been discomfort - and maybe it was. But he was pretty sure now that Wyatt just felt unequipped to deal with these kinds of things, and that was fair, Henri had _lived_ through these things and didn’t know how to deal with it. 

Regardless, Henri tapped his knuckles on the table and stood up. “I’m gonna go check on him,” When he walked, he felt a certain disgust creep up his spine at the soreness that lasted from his last client. He smothered it as best he could as he turned the doorknob and slipped into their bedroom, shutting it behind him.

Julian was curled up on his side on the bed, hair fallen over his shoulder and spread over the pillow, and he looked peaceful. Henri strayed closer only to pull the blanket up a little more and Julian didn’t stir from it at all, he was so deeply asleep. Maybe it was the bed, Henri thought, or maybe it just made him feel like he was a bit closer to not being alone. That second one hurt him in some soft place. 

He turned to the small scuffed dresser Wyatt had found somewhere for them and quietly opened a drawer, taking out a meager wad of cash he’d collected thus far. When he was anxious about money, he’d count it to remind himself he had some, but it was never enough to completely soothe his anxious hands. Last time he’d counted, he’d had three hundred and twenty dollars- but now, as he thumbed through the bills, he felt a horrible sinking feeling when he counted out an extra sixty. He didn’t want to look at Julian behind him, who was probably sleeping it off now, who had likely been desperate enough for comfort to curl up in their old bed just to rest easier. Henri’s skin crawled.

He’d go out again tonight, maybe, once they’d all gone to bed. In the kitchen, he could hear Wyatt starting on dinner and playing some music quietly enough to not disturb Julian who-

“Henri?” 

Henri turned to see Julian’s eyes, squinty but open. “Hey Julian,” He murmured softly as he tried to return the money to the dresser before Julian noticed, but it was a failed attempt because there was very little Julian didn’t notice.

“I didn’t do anything too bad,” Julian murmured. There was a rasp to his voice that set Henri on edge as he sat on the bed next to Julian’s shape under the covers. “I just…” He trailed off and didn’t continue.

“It’s okay,” Henri murmured. “I’m not mad. I just don’t want you to get hurt,” 

Julian pursed his lips and didn’t respond right away. Henri imagined him arranging his words in these silences, because even though they were sometimes strangely picked, they were always acutely _Julian,_ spoken in a way only he would phrase them. When he finally deemed them appropriate, he said, “But you can get hurt, too,” 

Henri did not have a good argument, nor would he ever. He worried that if he didn’t stop, Julian never would either, but he couldn’t stop taking every opportunity to amass cash until they were on their feet. “But I’m-”

“Bigger, older,” Julian filled in quietly. Henri’s frustration itched within him for a moment, but not at Julian, _never_ at Julian. He sighed and reached up to rub his face. 

“Yeah, man,” Henri reached down to ruffle his hair. “Get some more sleep, okay? I’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready. Sounds good?” 

“...Yeah,” Julian let him leave and Henri swore under his breath as he closed the door behind himself.

“Hey Wy? I’m gonna go shower, then I’ll help, yeah?”

“Sure man!” Wyatt called out to him, grinning over his shoulder. 

Henri wanted to scrub his skin raw. 

That night after dinner, Henri lingered in the living room while he watched Julian sit up on the couch and start flicking idly through shows on Netflix. A few months ago, he wouldn’t even touch the PS4 controller, so it was improvement- he used to never touch anything Wyatt had brought, and when he did, it was with furtive glances and as quick as possible. Occasionally, Henri wondered just how bad Julian’s life had been while he was at home. He’d had a shitty childhood in some aspects and had been incredibly lucky in others- but Julian’s fearful glances seemed to be more ingrained than some years of homelessness could teach. Henri didn’t like to think about it, but he found himself doing so anyway, like running a track over and over.

Even now, when Julian was quietly growing used to this place, he felt as though there was nothing he could say to convince Julian to just come with him to bed, or eat that last bit of food left over at dinner, or talk when Wyatt and him were talking, even though it seemed like something he sorely wanted. The act of curling up together was innocent, he reminded himself over and over, and he tried not to question why Julian had stopped, but he found himself wondering anyway. There was something wounded within him that he didn't want to touch but strayed closer to every time he lingered with these thoughts.

Julian must have felt his stare because he turned to look at Henri with that almost blank but pensive look on his face- the kind that suggested he was more present. Henri swallowed as he heard Wyatt shut his own bedroom door. In the silence that followed, Henri knew he should be trying to get some sleep, or maybe just pretending he was going to so he could leave. 

Like that, Julian’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Are you going to go out?” He asked softly. 

Henri sighed. “I was thinking about it,” 

“You don’t have to anymore,” Julian replied. He was still staring at Henri when he said it, and in the silence that followed, an uncomfortable itch flooded his body- but mostly his hands. He felt restless and anxious, thumbing through the stash of dollars in his mind and how much he had in his savings account. “Come sit with me,” 

Henri did. He crossed the living room and sat next to Julian, smoothing his palms over his thighs. “We just need a little more money, just to be stable, then I’ll stop.” He spoke through gritted teeth, grinding every word out took immense effort but he continued on with it nonetheless. 

“You said that months ago,” Julian murmured- in fact, it was hardly a whisper, and he was very pointedly not looking at Henri now. 

“I know,” Henri sighed the words out and rubbed his face. “It’s just hard. I don’t want to, Julian,” 

“I know that,” Julian picked at the blanket covering his lap, and Henri squinted at the titles on the TV. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Henri told him quietly. When Henri first met him, Julian had hidden in plain sight. To anyone else walking down the street, he was easy to skip over, hood up and pallid face hidden beneath it- but ever since seeing him with his back to the closet, pupils blown and knees drawn up to his chest, he stuck out to Henri. Even with his shit eyesight, he was sure he could pick Julian out of any crowd. Even now when Julian wasn’t looking at him and pressing himself back into the couch, his bravery and words spent, Henri could see the blurry tremble in his hand. 

He threw his arm around Julian, who only jumped a little. “I’ll try, okay?”

“You won’t go out tonight?” Julian asked, and he leaned his thin frame into Henri’s side. 

The pinched, anxious feeling returned in a flood, but Henri replied, “I won’t,” and though he meant it- he knew when Julian didn’t believe him, and he knew he was right not to. Julian flicked on a show and sat leaning into Henri until Henri was nodding off, having trouble keeping his eyes open, and Julian finally suggested he should head to bed. 

The air went tight in Henri’s throat as, half-asleep, he almost said, _‘Okay, let’s go-’_ but he just barely stopped himself. Instead he stood and stretched his arms above his head, peering down at Julian as words came and went without fully surfacing, little wanting things that he set aside somewhere else. He swore he saw something tangled and complicated in Julian’s eyes, but his expression was blank as ever, and eventually he turned his eyes back to the TV and Henri walked to the bedroom alone.

Henri’s savings fund slowly grew, paycheque after paycheque, and the funds in the drawer grew too. Julian saw him most nights as he sat awake (which was a whole other concern- the more he slept on the couch, the deeper the bags under his eyes grew, the more he nodded off at the kitchen table-) and Henri passed by the scraggly old bushes next to their doorstep growing madly in the April rain and out to another tip of Isaac’s. He tried to be quiet and quick, but some people demanded more of his time, some sent him home with bruises on his arms or legs that he was sure Wyatt had noticed. He hated it. He wanted to stop. But most nights he lay in bed itching with restlessness until he gave in, chasing that fistful of cash he could make at the expense of his safety and comfort, just in case Julian got sick again or his car broke or the electric bill was higher than they expected. Once he had a few grand put away, he’d feel better. He just had to get there. 

The sun was starting to set later as the drizzling rain covered Redcove for the ninth day in a row, chilly spring air turning his breath into clouds the moment he stepped onto the back deck. He’d gotten a text from Isaac about a good client who was looking for someone- as Isaac put it- _‘less twinky, which is the only reason he didn’t want my quality ass. Maybe he’ll go for you? He pays nice.’_ It was eight o’clock, Julian was in the shower and the sky was almost completely dark. Henri flicked up his hood and took the outside steps two at a time, eager to get this over with--

“Henri, where are you goin’?” 

_Shit._

Henri looked back up from halfway down the stairs at Wyatt, who was standing just inside the back deck’s roof cover out of the rain. “On a walk,” Henri replied smoothly. “Just feeling a little restless.” 

“Dude,” Wyatt sighed, “don’t lie to me, okay? I’m not that dumb,” 

“You’re not dumb at all, Wy,” Henri replied knee-jerk. Wyatt talked like that all the time- at work, at home, anywhere. 

“Then tell me what you’re actually doing,” Wyatt countered, but it was sheepish, and Henri turned away for just a moment and sighed. 

“Dude, it’s just-”

“Henri,” Wyatt cut him off before he could continue. “Please don’t keep stuff from me,” 

Henri felt the tension slide out of his body, giving way to shivery anxiety as he walked back up the steps and collapsed into one of three camping chairs they had set up. He fished a cigarette out of his vest pocket and lit it with one shaky hand, inhaling as Wyatt sat next to him. For a moment, the two of them just watched the rain drip from the tin lean-to roof that covered the deck, all grey and distant blues and black from the sparse woods that bordered their backyard. Then, Henri spoke: “I uh, go out and y’know, fuck for money.” That wasn’t what he normally called it, but he knew that the terms and language he used with Isaac, who _knew_ about this kind of work would go over Wyatt’s head. Putting it so bluntly felt inaccurate, but it got the point across without going into the details that Henri would rather keep to himself.

“Wh-- what?” Wyatt’s gaze snapped to him abruptly, he saw it fuzzily out of the corner of his eye, but he just kept staring straight ahead. His cheeks burned and stomach writhed within him, anxious and tight. “Dude, you-” 

“Don’t lecture, alright? Just- listen for a second,” Henri rubbed his temple with his fingers, flicking his cigarette before taking another drag. “It was a way to make money when I was homeless- you’d be surprised at how much of a market there is for it, and y’know, most of the time it meant you had a bed to sleep in or a couch to crash on,” He took another drag, fingers trembling around it. “I just want to build up a savings fund,”

“But…” Wyatt’s silence that followed was almost maddening. Henri wanted to crawl out of his own skin. “You have a job now, man, you don’t have to do that anymore?” 

“I know,” Henri sighed raggedly. He felt like he was a hundred years older than he was, or like he’d been hit by a truck, or both. 

“Sorry,” Wyatt mumbled. “I know I don’t get it,” 

“It’s okay, man,” Henri laughed a little bitterly. “You’re not calling me a fag or disgusting so I’m counting this as a win,”

“You’re none of those things,” Wyatt replied immediately, and the look on his face was endearing to the point where it made Henri feel nauseous. He wanted to walk away from this, in fact, he didn’t even want to look at Wyatt sitting next to him. A childhood within the pews hadn’t made him homophobic, it had made him secretive and later had galvanized him when he’d fled home. Being gay was never something he’d been ashamed of (he'd refused to believe love could be shameful)- but _this?_ He knew it wasn’t a terrible thing to do, he knew he wasn’t a terrible person, but something within him squirmed hot and relentless. Distantly, he knew that this was a tragedy, that he should not be here at seventeen making decisions like this. But he _was_ here. If he lingered too long on what could have been, he'd never be able to _be_ right now. 

He sighed. “I know I don’t have to. I’m going to stop. I promised Julian,” He took another drag. “It’s just knowing I can go make a few extra dollars…” 

“Then pick up some overtime,” Wyatt suggested, leaning over the side of his chair to try and capture Henri’s attention more. “Rich’s always looking for people to work more. I’ll work longer hours too and we’ll get there, okay?” 

Henri finally looked away from the dripping raindrops he could only just see glistening and turned to face Wyatt. His rumpled hair was held back from his face with a ball cap turned backwards, big green eyes staring at Henri with such obvious concern. “You don’t have-” 

“Hey, man,” Wyatt shoved him, and it was strong enough that Henri’s chair scraped across the deck an inch or two. “We live together, I’m gonna help. Especially if it means you’ll stop, y'know, doing that-”

“There’s nothing wrong with sex work,” He muttered, “Just that I’m doing it isn’t, uh, great,” 

Wyatt frowned, “Dude, you're a minor, and were when you started- 'sides, it's dangerous... It is uhh, kinda bad. One thing for adults to do it, but..."

“Yeah,” Henri rubbed his temple again, the beginnings of a headache gathering there. “You’re not gonna let me go, huh?”

“Nah, I’m just gonna pick you up n’ slam dunk you onto the couch, and I don’t think you could get past me,” Wyatt replied, and it was so breezy and confident that Henri made a face.

“I might be smaller, but I’m fast-” He began, but Wyatt’s grin cut him off. It was rare to see him confident about anything, rare enough that Henri stopped talking entirely. 

“Three-time wrestling champ,” Wyatt gestured to himself. “You might be fast, but if I getcha, that’s fuckin’ it for you,” 

“Wanna bet?” Henri countered, and slowly put out the gently smoking butt of the cigarette in the dish to his right. Wyatt’s eyes followed his every move. 

In a mad-dash, Henri leaped to his feet and made to skirt past Wyatt’s chair- but one moment he was on his feet and the next he was just in the air. _“Ahhfuck!”_ When Wyatt stood, it was almost shocking how easy he manipulated Henri over his shoulder, lighter clattering to the deck as it fell from his vest pocket, arms hanging limply down Wyatt’s back. “Jesus, dude-”

“I toldja!” Wyatt said as they passed through the back door into the kitchen, and then, “Heya Julian,” 

A moment later, Julian came into view to Henri as Wyatt moved towards the living room and turned his back to the hall where the kid was lurking. “Hey man,” Henri waved, and a laugh bubbled out of him as Julian’s anxious expression slowly melded into confusion instead. “Don’t worry, he-” Then Henri’s whole world spun as Wyatt, in the most accurate description available, slam dunk him onto the couch. The couch, which had undoubtedly lived through many rowdy boys being thrown onto it, had an appropriate reaction- it rocked from the sudden Henri-sized impact, old springs complaining with a loud creak. He bounced from the sheer force of being flung off the bigger dude’s shoulder and laughed the whole time as Wyatt sat down on the love seat and Julian peered over the back of the couch at him. 

“Did you know Wyatt’s a three-time wrestling champ?” Henri asked Julian, slightly breathless from the carry and subsequent toss. Julian looked up at Wyatt, evidently lost for words but still confused. Wyatt laughed, though, and Henri laughed more- Julian climbed over the back of the couch and perched at the end of it, and Henri swore he caught a soft smile on his face.


	11. it's funny you should ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'cause I don't remember,"
> 
> Wyatt makes a breakthrough in getting closer to Julian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: workplace harassment (f slur), brief mentions of sex work, mild drug use (marijuana)

Wyatt grew to love the Brackley house quicker than he thought. He’d always been a homebody, preferring to spend time with his Ma over running through neighborhoods chasing kids who he knew didn’t want to hang out with him. He had wanted to move out, sure, but it was a change he had been wary of- he didn’t much like being alone, and hadn’t had anyone to move out with. But Henri was a good guy and a better friend than Wyatt had ever had, and when they sat up watching TV or gaming, it made the place feel more and more like home. The shadows on his bedroom wall at night may be different, but they were still shadows, and he could get used to it if it meant he could have all the good things, too. 

Besides, they were settling into a good routine- at least, he’d like to think so. He’d always been a morning person. When his alarm went off, he got up and threw on his clothes, trailing into the kitchen to make coffee just as Henri was stumbling out of his bedroom. They’d found the coffee maker for five bucks at a thrift shop and Wyatt had cleverly argued that it’d save them money in the long run, so Henri agreed to get it, and now his tired ass was gonna be appreciative. When he wandered into the kitchen, rubbing one eye with his knuckles, Wyatt already had a thermos full of coffee he shoved into Henri’s hand. 

“Thanks, Wy,” Henri mumbled. 

Wyatt grinned and just shook his head. “No problem, dude.” 

He remembered things about people quickly. By their first week living together, he’d known how Henri liked his coffee- by the second, he’d known what food Julian preferred depending on how quickly he’d eat it. (He always ate every scrap on his plate, but sometimes the speed at which the lil’ dude put it away was shocking.) Unlike most, Henri was actually appreciative- even now, he reached out and squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder as he took a mouth-burning gulp from the thermos. That was another thing to know about Henri: he was really physically affectionate. He’d reach up to ruffle Wyatt’s hair, or squeeze his shoulder, or clap him on the back. With Julian, he’d throw his arm around him to pull him closer, sit right by him, mess with his hair. It was nice. So different, but good at the same time.

They pulled on their boots and went out into the cool spring morning, hopped into Wyatt’s truck, and pulled out of the gravel drive as Henri fiddled with the hot air. 

The second Wyatt had found out Henri’s car was uninsured, he’d decided he was driving them to work every morning. The fact that Henri had shitty eyesight only made that worse, and on top of that, Wyatt was pretty sure he was a zombie for the first half an hour he was awake anyway. Add up all those fun facts, and Wyatt was pretty content driving them every morning for the rest of time. Besides, this morning it gave him some time to focus on anything other than talking to Richard about getting more hours. 

It wasn’t that Wyatt was nervous about the overtime, ‘cause he knew Richard would throw him a bone. But he’d been actively avoiding his boss since Henri told off John. Richard didn’t care about some infighting as long as it didn’t affect the work, in fact, most times people got into spats he encouraged them to work it out themselves. But Wyatt had spent months denying that John and his buddies had been, y’know, kind of shitty to him. Richard _hated_ being lied to in any context, and Wyatt couldn’t blame him.

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel absentmindedly. 

“You’re quiet this morning,” It seemed the caffeine was starting to kick in. 

“Yeah,” Wyatt replied. “Just didn’t sleep well,” 

“Same,” Henri replied, and Wyatt was worried that meant Henri had gone out again. That… Well, that had been a shock. He was a _kid._ A few years younger than Wyatt, and that was kind of crazy to him, but he knew homelessness would have put Henri in a terrible spot for money- or for _everything._ He just couldn’t imagine being that screwed. Sure, he’d been hurting for cash before, but never _literally..._ But they had a place now, so hopefully Wyatt could convince him he really didn’t have to anymore. He’d seen the bruises before, and now that he knew what they were from, he just felt some kind of horrible. He didn’t wanna think about it. He _especially_ didn’t wanna think about the really similar ones on Julian. 

When they arrived at the site, Wyatt told Henri he had to talk to Richard about the overtime and let him go and linger next to the guys. It was weird- Henri was really personable at home, and really skilled with talking to Julian (who was impossible for Wyatt to talk to, but that was okay) but at work, he shied away from the other guys as much as he could. He wasn’t sure why- ‘cause once Henri started talking, he was really fun to listen to. Henri always said it was because they were all assholes, but Wyatt noticed the nervous twitch of his hands when they were nearby.

He knocked on the office door and waited ‘till he heard Richard call him in from the other side. “Oh, Wyatt,” Richard looked up from where he’d been going over paperwork on his desk, still standing up as he usually did, too restless to do anything sitting down. 

Wyatt shut the door behind him as he tried to plan what he was going to say, but before he could get very far, he had already begun to talk: “Hey so, uh, I was wondering if you have any overtime work Henri n’ I could do?”

Richard, who had at some point looked back at the paperwork he was going over, fixed Wyatt with a look. “I always have overtime available. Why?”

“Well, y’know, just-” Wyatt itched absentmindedly at a scab on his forearm. “Just buildin’ our savings n’ stuff,” 

Richard squinted, and Wyatt squirmed. Rich wasn’t really interested in the guys’ lives too much other than casual stuff, but Wyatt was a different story- he and Wyatt’s Ma were friends. Or at least as close to friends as Richard could get, he was pretty sure. Which meant he knew his Ma was asking about him, ‘cause Richard didn’t usually care to ask questions like that. “How are things on the site, Wyatt?” 

“It’s good,” Wyatt lied. If he was being honest, it wasn’t, but it’d gotten better since Henri had started. The guys had never liked Wyatt, he’d figured out. He thought maybe that they’d reached a point of being pals with one another, and maybe it was just casual ribbing, but getting to know Henri had been eye opening. Henri didn’t laugh at him. Henri laughed _with_ him. Henri also threatened to square off against John on Wyatt’s behalf, to his chagrin and concern. He didn’t wanna start things with the other guys, but he supposed it was out of his hands now. 

He also supposed Richard knew.

Richard fixed him with a look that made Wyatt look down at his boots, breathing evenly and pretending that it was fine, or maybe trying to remind himself it was. John had been his antagonist from the moment he’d started working here two years ago, and he’d done well enough to hide it from Richard ‘cause people stepping in never helped- not when he was a kid, and surely not now. “... Alright, then,” Richard sat behind the desk. “I’ll call you in when we need more guys. You can help Henri sweep up at the end of the day, too.” 

Wyatt swiveled and left the office after a quick thank-you and got to work. 

As he had for the last few weeks, Henri made a point of trying to work close to Wyatt. It was obviously protective and when he did happen to stray away, that was when the comments started. He’d always thought it was normal. They called you shitty names and treated you like garbage, and eventually, once you were competent, they stopped. But they had never stopped with Wyatt. He’d just gotten better at pretending it didn’t bug him. 

“Hey, where’d your lover go, huh?” Wyatt heard it from his left and tried to focus on the task at hand instead, sighing as laughter ricocheted around from behind him, too. “Huh, Wy? Never took you for a fag,”

“Shut up,” Wyatt mumbled. 

A litany of laughter and _‘Ooooo’s_ broke out around him and finally he turned to look at who’d been talking. One of John’s friends- John was somewhere else, no doubt wishing he was here to see Wyatt fuck up and say something wrong again. “Whaddya gonna do, big guy? Gonna call Henri?”

“No,” Wyatt muttered. He felt trapped, like anything he could say would be the wrong thing. Instead, he turned and kept working. Eventually, they stopped talking to him and laughed it off instead. Eventually, Wyatt realized his hands were shaking and put down the nail gun. Eventually, he realized he was angry, and for a moment he wanted to swing at that guy- he was bigger by quite a bit (he usually was, topping out at 6’3) and he knew he could win just about any fight he got into if he really tried. But an undercurrent of nausea hit before he could give the thought any more time. What kind of person would he be if he did that? He’d be a bit more like his Dad, he thought, and he didn’t want to be like that. Wyatt took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and decided he was calm. 

“Hey Wy, lunch time,” Henri’s voice cut through and when he opened his eyes, his friend was there, all ginger as hell and drowning in Wyatt’s old hoodie he’d lent him. Henri smiled at him- still obviously tired, but he was smiling still in the mid-morning sun, and Wyatt was all of a sudden so grateful for him.

“Good,” Wyatt grinned, “I’m starving,” 

When they got home, most days, Henri immediately disappeared into the house to find Julian. He’d find where Julian was sitting up on the couch and sit next to him, launching into stories about their day, or whatever Julian was watching on Netflix. Even though the kid hardly talked, Wyatt watched him lean against Henri and listen, or watch him with all his attention. It was hard to believe they hadn’t known each other for a long time, based on how they fit together. 

Then, as it had for a while now, the strange guilt returned. When he’d talked to Henri about them sharing a bedroom, it’d been out of concern for Julian that he’d wanted to make sure there was nothing happening behind closed doors. He’d only wanted to make sure the kid was _safe._ Now, Julian didn’t go into the bedroom if Henri was in there at all- in fact, he slept on the couches and woke half the time looking crazed and terrified. _Night terrors,_ Henri had called them. It sounded like a title for something out of a horror movie. Every time Julian woke up, it looked like he’d been watching the scariest movie while he’d been asleep. 

Henri and Julian had been tied together and moving around each other at the same time. Wyatt watched their stares after each other, especially Henri’s, full of concern as Julian nodded off at the dinner table more nights than not. Wyatt didn’t know what to say about it. He couldn’t help but think it might be his fault. He watched Julian’s eyes become more sunken and dark-ringed, stares more vacant with exhaustion as the days went on. He’d come upstairs at night and find him awake for hours on end. He didn’t know what to do. 

Wyatt didn’t have words for how he felt about it- at least, not many. Guilt was perhaps the most prominent. He drifted into the kitchen as Julian drowsily leaned on Henri in the living room, dark brown eyes following him as he left them to their business. Instead of thinking for too long about it, he opened the freezer and took a peek to see what he could pull out for dinner that night and wondered what he could pick to make Julian’s eyes go wide with astonishment and hunger. He couldn’t help the night terrors, but he could keep the kid fed for sure.

Thoughts still too tangled to make a coherent choice, Wyatt stepped out of the kitchen a few minutes later and saw Julian’s full body strewn across Henri’s lap, head rested on a pillow, fast asleep with Henri’s arm slung over his side. For a moment, he stood in silence watching until Henri turned to look at him and canted his head, “You alright?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah man,” Wyatt replied on auto pilot. “I might go out for a little bit? Are you two gonna be okay?” 

Henri nodded, “Yeah, go for it dude,” He said, quieter than he normally would, and unable to look away from Julian for longer than a few moments seeing as his gaze had already snuck back down to check on the sleeping kid. 

Wyatt grabbed his shoes again and smiled through the guilt, “Have some Henri-Julian time, yeah?” 

Henri’s face softened, “Thanks, man,” 

When Wyatt pulled up to his parent’s house, his Dad’s truck was gone and he was thankful for it. It’d been a minute since he’d seen his Ma, and he didn’t like to go too long without doing that. By the time he was at the door, she had already thrown it open and wrapped him up in a hug that he hadn’t known he’d needed so badly. “Hey Mama,” He wanted to be sulky and sad, but he was grinning already when she cupped his face in her hands. 

“You should have told me you were coming! Come inside, c’mon,” Like that, he was bustled into his childhood home and directly to the kitchen. If you were a good cook, the kitchen is where folks sat and talked, just to get closer to whatever it was you were cooking and maybe get a piece. His Ma’s kitchen was just that- a place to gather, except right now most of the counter space was taken up by a truly impressive amount of cookies mid-production.

“Cookies? Want help?” He asked, and she gave him the _look._ It was with her glasses perched on the end of her nose, hair frizzy from sticking out from her bun, brows arched high onto her forehead.

“Well, don’t you think you were gonna sit here and twiddle your thumbs!” Wyatt laughed, and so did she, so he shed his coat and washed his hands before getting to work. “They’re for the hospice, so they have to be delicious,” She said. He should have known it was another hospice bake- it was one of the things his Ma prided herself on doing for the community. Wyatt had always helped, so it seemed right that he’d shown up today.

As he helped mix and roll dough, his Ma didn’t hesitate on jumping into the questions. _How are you? How have you been eating? How has work been?_ Wyatt answered them to the best of his ability, and he only lied a little, ‘cause he didn’t want his Ma worrying about him at all. The truth was that he’d be fine once everyone settled into a better routine. The truth was once Julian got better, it’d all be okay, and once Henri quit sex work he’d be safe, and once John stopped picking on Wyatt it’d all be _fine._

“How are those boys?” She asked, finally, as Wyatt was rolling sections of dough into balls to bake. Across the counter from him, she peered up at him rather than at what she was doing- which wasn’t surprising. She’d made cookies for every bake sale in his childhood, and every odd rainy Saturday, and every time he’d been sad. He was pretty sure she could do it in her sleep. 

“They’re good,” Wyatt set another dough ball down. “Henri’s a really good guy. He’s smart about money and stuff- we made a budget together, and he’s been doing really good at work. Rich really likes him. We play a lot of Smash,” 

“What about the other one- what was his name again?”

“Oh uh, Julian,” Wyatt frowned a little and it didn’t escape her. “He’s okay,”

“Okay? He isn’t being-”

“No, Ma,” Wyatt laughed a little. He knew she was going to say, _he’s not being mean to you, is he?_ As if he was six and she could scare his bullies away again. Besides, the thought of Julian raising his voice was laughable at best- it was easy to forget he had one at all, sometimes. “He’s just quiet. Real shy. Him and Henri’ve been through the ringer- he just came out a bit worse for wear, I think,”

He found he’d slowed down until almost stopping, just absentmindedly rolling dough in his hands. “I don’t think he likes me much,”

His Ma paused, frowning heavily, “Well I don’t see what’s not to like,” She said haughtily.

Wyatt smiled softly. “Nah, it’s not like that- I think I just need to figure out how to show him I’m nothin’ to fear, ‘cause he’s had a lot of people treat him badly, y’know?”

She seemed skeptical that anyone could look at him and fear him, but she nodded along with his reasoning anyway. “Well, you know a way to someone’s heart is through their stomach,” 

“Oh, I know, believe me- you shoulda seen him. He’s like, yay high,” He gestured with his hand to show Julian’s approximate height (tall-ish, for a fourteen year old, but he wasn’t about to tell his Ma that Julian was that young,) “and he put away a bone-in pork chop and a half with a big helping of green beans and mashed potatoes too, and he’s a skinny lil’ thing,”

That seemed to help his Ma’s opinion of Julian. “Good, he has good taste then,” She replied, but this time she was smiling. “I’m proud of you, Wy,” He didn’t see why she would be, but he smiled nonetheless, pretended that wasn’t what he felt tangled inside him. “I’m going to send you home with some of these when you go, and then you can see if that helps at all.” 

He stuck the tray in the oven and then rounded the scuffed island and hugged her. 

The rest of the afternoon, they alternated from making cookies to sitting on the deck with tea and talking. It was refreshing to be home with her in a way that Wyatt wasn’t sure how to describe- his Ma had been his best friend all his life. It was weird not seeing her every day. By the end of it all, he had flour smeared up his arms and chap stick on his cheek from where she’d pulled his head down to smooch him goodbye. He wandered back to his truck with what would assuredly be far too many cookies that they could consume in one sitting. 

As he drove back towards Brackley, he took back routes, trying to think of ways he could get along with Julian. But instead he kept coming up blank, and instead was just feeling sore from the overtime at work and making cookies, and a little stressed about the whole thing. It was Friday, thankfully, so maybe he’d pick up a pack of beer on his way home…

Or, in fact, he thought he had a better idea. 

There was nothing that’d help more right now than getting stoned. 

A few phone calls and some driving around later and he was home, toting a bag of cookies and a smaller bag of weed stuffed into his pocket. He kicked off his shoes and took the stairs two at a time to find Henri and Julian still in the living room- but now playing Smash. “Hey,” He dropped the bag of cookies on the couch between the two of them and in the time it took Henri to pause it, Julian was already opening the bag. “Ma and I made cookies, give ‘em a shot, they’re to die for,” 

Julian already had one in his hands by the time Henri fished his out and the look on the kid’s face when he bit into it was like he’d _ascended._ For a second, he looked at Henri, and then finally up at Wyatt. “I know, right?” Wyatt said quietly. He tried to talk quieter around Julian so he wouldn’t freak him out with his big voice and make him jump again. This time, Julian didn’t, and just took another bite while Henri audibly groaned with delight.

“Oh my God, Wy,” Henri mumbled through a mouthful.

“It’s her recipe! She’s a genius,” Wyatt replied over his shoulder as he grabbed his rolling stuff from his room, and then finally snuck out the back door onto the deck, sinking down into one of their camping chairs.

It’d been a while since he’d last rolled a joint. He’d never been particularly good at it, and now it seemed he was even more objectively terrible than he had been. Nonetheless, after a good while of struggling he ended up with something passable and finally took a drag. He tried to blow the smoke away from the windows in the hopes that Henri or Julian didn’t take offense, but they didn’t really seem like the type to. 

But just as he was about to take another drag, Henri opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck with a cigarette in hand- and he paused seeing Wyatt already there, then squinted. “... Wy, is that weed?”

“Uhhh-” Wyatt exhaled smoke as he spoke and coughed once, _“maaaybe?”_

“... Can I have some?” Henri finally said after a pause, tucking the cigarette behind his ear and dropping down next to Wyatt, who immediately held out the lit joint for Henri to take. “It’s been a minute since I’ve gotten stoned,” Henri said matter-of-factly as he pulled the joint away from his mouth to inspect Wyatt’s rolling skills. “... Dude this is terrible,” 

“Shut up, it’s been a minute for me too, I just wanted to have a chill night,” Wyatt coughed again. Henri laughed at him, and that was far too damn infectious, ‘cause Wyatt laughed too. 

It didn’t take long for Julian to poke his head out of the door. “What’s up, officer?” Henri said, grinning wider than he usually did, and in response Wyatt laughed a little more than he usually did. As Julian skirted out the door to sit with them, Henri aimed a playful kick in his direction, which was deflected by Julian kicking back. His brows furrowed quizzically at them as he sat down, gaze flickering between them.

“You’re stoned,” Julian said. 

“Uh-huh,” Wyatt responded, taking the joint back from Henri to have another puff. 

“Pass?” Julian held out his hand, and Wyatt looked to Henri for guidance- ‘cause he wasn’t just about to give this kid weed if Henri didn’t think it was a good idea. But Henri was looking at Julian, then back to Wyatt again, and Julian spoke once more: “I’ve smoked weed before, relax,” 

It was maybe the most words Wyatt had heard him say in a row, so he handed the joint off to Julian. “Okay well, just be su-”

Julian took a deep drag, which he must not have been prepared for, because the coughing fit that ensued was explosive and loud- only drowned out by Henri and Wyatt’s immediate laughter. “Holy fuck, Julian, _you good?”_

“Fine,” Julian hissed, and when Henri reached for the joint, he pulled it away from him and took another smaller puff this time and didn’t die. 

“Jeez,” Wyatt dabbed at his eyes. “I needed that, kiddo. You sure you’re okay?” 

Julian nodded, peering at him with squinty unimpressed eyes. Wyatt thought that was funnier than it probably was. He also thought this was the most they’d talked before. He thought he was probably going to be buying more weed from now on. 

“This is badly rolled,” Julian mumbled, inspecting it. Henri laughed as Wyatt threw his hands up, leaning back in his chair with a huff.

“I’m not an expert, guys! _Okay!_ I’m just a dude who likes to smoke sometimes and definitely lost my pipe!”

They burned through the joint, and Henri suggested another, so Wyatt got out the rolling tray again only to have Julian lean across Henri to take the tray and all the things on it from his lap. Wyatt leaned forward to watch, both awestruck and sluggish, as Julian set the tray on his thighs and methodically rolled the neatest joint Wyatt had seen and then held it out to Henri.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Henri said as he took it and lit it. 

“Makes you popular at parties,” Julian said in a tone that sounded just a bit more snide than usual, eyes heavily lidded, a soft smile on his face. 

Wyatt took the joint as Henri passed it and thought, _maybe I’m getting somewhere._

That night, they ate every last crumb of his Ma’s cookies and made a baked mac n’ cheese that was far too cheesy and watched movies until Julian fell asleep on the couch half leaned against Henri, who had been asleep for a few hours by then at least. Wyatt got a sneaky picture of them with the empty cookie bag on the coffee table in front of them and sent it to his Ma, grinning to himself, and eventually went off to his own bed to sleep. Maybe it was the weed, but the second he hit the mattress, he was almost fast asleep and blissfully unaware of anything else. The worries about Julian, Henri, John- all of it slowly melted away until it was just him curled up in his bed safe and unbothered by anything at all. 

A piercing noise woke Wyatt with a start- he sat up, greeted by sheer silence around him. He’d sworn he’d heard something- something _loud-_ but there was just him panting in his room and the soft sounds of the trees creaking in the wind outside. For a few moments he sat there willing his racing heart to slow down and telling himself it was nothing, he’d just imagined it, they’d just watched too many horror movies- 

But before he could soothe himself entirely back to sleep, it came again.

A short, thin, terrible scream cut through the weak walls and he realized with a start it was coming from the living room above him.

_Julian._


	12. i hear a storm is comin' in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "is it all we've ever been?"
> 
> Julian falls to pieces, and Henri is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: depictions of hallucinations, allusions to childhood trauma, childhood mental illness, allusions to near-death experiences, depictions of panic attack/anxiety attack.

The night had been good. Julian felt floaty and soft, comfortable leaning into his camping chair on the back deck, listening to Wyatt and Henri talking about work. He even spoke a little too, especially when it came to making the mac n’ cheese. He and Henri fought over who was more capable of grating cheese in their state. Julian threw a small handful at Henri, who grabbed a kitchen cloth to whip at him, all the while Wyatt handled the rest of the cooking. They laughed, all three of them. He only jumped a little when Wyatt clapped him on the back. It was good in a way that was new to him, eased into motion by the weed and the calmness it brought on.

But the best part had been sitting on the couch with Henri and making remarks about the movies they watched. He was too stoned to worry about putting on a show for Wyatt, who didn’t do anything to call them out, didn’t look at them funny when Henri fell asleep with his head tilted all the way back and with Julian leaned against him. He peered over at Wyatt once, before he fell asleep too, and he could have sworn they made eye contact for just a second- but then the movie was getting more exciting and they both kept watching instead of talking. 

Julian’s tired eyes wavered closed, drowsy beyond belief, and suddenly he was completely asleep.

Then, he was on a couch, but a different one than he had been on. In front of him, a TV blared nonsensical infomercials, the words garbled and losing meaning by the time they reached him. There came sounds and creaks from someplace behind him, whether distantly or very close, it was hard to tell. A man lay rapidly stilling on another couch nearby, twitching and gasping intermittently, hand still spasming around a pill bottle. Julian was cold. He couldn’t breathe properly. 

When he closed his eyes, he awoke again, but this time he was staring at the roof of Henri’s car, heart settling- and when he blinked, he was someplace else in a flash. The high ceiling of his childhood bedroom ballooned above him, the click of heels on tile floors, he tried to pull the covers up to hide but his lungs were full of something thick, breathing too noisy to not be found.

Then he was on the sloping lawns outside the house, sitting in the grass, palms against the warm stalks beneath him. He was panting, couldn’t take in air, it was getting _worse_ somehow. Ahead of him, there was a smaller boy, fists balled up and face angry-red from screaming as he approached. _Dion._ Julian flinched as his brother neared him, and then he was gone again. 

It was Cassandra’s face, a halo of fluorescent light above her, tears and snot and blotchy red. He tried to move his limbs to block her gentle hand touching his face, but he couldn’t. His heart was pounding. He was dying. He knew that now; he recognized how it felt. He squinted against the light above him, blaring, digging into his eyes- Cassandra was crying again, one hand reaching up to cover her mouth, expression twisted into grief. 

A dark shape cut the light, swallowing it like black holes he read about as a kid, high bun and angular face, cutting eyes that he could hardly see beyond the darkness. She reached towards him, and he tried to scream, he tried to writhe against whatever held him still but he couldn’t. When she touched him, he would die, he would _die,_ and there was nothing he could do- intense animal-like fear pumped through his veins as he choked and screamed but not a single sound came out of him. 

(Or so he thought.)

When he opened his eyes, he sucked in a violent breath that ached his entire chest and throat. A hand was clamped down on his shoulder and Julian scrambled away from it- reaching up to claw it off of him, pressing himself back into the familiar cushions of the couch once he realized he was on it again. His breath came in messy bursts, out and in, frantic- the shape before him was huge and shadowy in the living room that was slowly becoming familiar again, backlit by the idle TV screen. 

Dizziness made his brain fuzzy, like he was stoned all over again except this time instead of calm warmth, there was a frantic void of panic. The breaths he took were quick and desperate and he was sure there were fault lines forming beneath him, the two of them; they were Wyatt’s hands, and they didn’t reach to touch him again, but instead rested on the couch as Julian shook apart. He was far away and anchored to the spot, ebbing away and back to himself over and over, aware that he was losing control but not being able to gain any back. Around them, shapes he couldn’t see properly were twisting and changing- still only fragments, but threatening. He pressed himself further away from them all, from _everything,_ back into the couch cushions. He wished they’d swallow him whole.

“H-Henri?” He croaked between gasps. 

He saw Wyatt look over his shoulder and say something, but he could hardly understand it, the sounds came to him but he couldn’t sort anything into words. Then he was leaving, and Julian put his hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes- he didn’t want to see anything anymore, he didn’t want to see anything that wasn’t _there._

“I just w-want Henri-” 

He wasn’t sure if he was speaking aloud or just in his head again, always in his head, everything was in his head. It felt like there were no sharp lines, everything was escaping him and flooding into him all at once. He could see the shape of his mother in the shadows of the living room, hear her voice curling behind his head, and Wyatt was there but maybe not all the way- he could be convinced that he was fake, too. Julian only barely felt the pressure of his hand on the couch next to him. He barely felt anything at all.

He hardly heard Wyatt say, “I don’t know where he is-”

He didn’t notice Wyatt with his phone out, frantically texting, the screen illuminating his terrified expression.

He didn’t notice anything except that he wanted this to end in any way it could. He didn’t want to feel so-- _so--_

“I’m _scared,”_ He confessed in a breathy whisper. Like a spark of light, Wyatt’s warm hand pressed between his own, and he realized he had _hands_ again, like he’d forgotten as he was dissolving into the rush of his heartbeat and wheezing breath.

“I know,” Wyatt’s voice hummed through the dissonance, reaching out toward him like the hand that Julian held onto now, clenched between spasms. “I’m not gonna go anywhere, okay?” 

Julian had no way of knowing anything. When the panic came in waves and took his vision and hearing in pieces or all at once, he couldn’t know Wyatt was there on his knees in front of the couch, whispering like a mantra, _‘it’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay-’_ (for Julian, for himself, for Henri wherever he was.) He did not know for sure that Wyatt wouldn’t leave, or that he wouldn’t be cast out _doing this_ again, for being unable to hide it anymore.

He just had to trust that the hand between his own was one he could hold onto. 

Wyatt never let go.

Julian came back in pieces, but he realized that the worst had passed all at once. He was boneless against the couch, head throbbing, one hand still wound with Wyatt’s. Slowly, he unfurled his fist and let go, but he didn’t look up. He thought maybe if he did, Wyatt could see the numb shame settling in his stomach and slowly lining his lungs. It was the only thing he had left to feel after an episode like this.

For a moment, he felt himself leaning against his bedroom wall, clumps of his own hair in his hands, throat raw from his crying. The sun had been rising outside, gentle light spilling across his bedroom floor, he was so transfixed. He must have been six or so, when it started. Maybe younger. He clenched his jaw now, waving back and forth from numb to feeling too much- he supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Wyatt knew what he was like now. There was no hiding it anymore. 

“Hey, Julian… You feeling-- um…” Wyatt trailed off, and Julian squeezed his eyes shut. If he could cry more he might have, but even the thought of it made him want to never be seen again. “Want some water?” Wyatt prompted.

Julian gave a small nod. Wyatt got up and went into the kitchen and he distantly heard him rummaging around until he came back over with a glass and held it out. The water felt nice over his now sore throat. He held it idly between his hands and realized he did not know where they were supposed to go from here, or how to even start. How would he tell Henri?

Slowly, he looked up at Wyatt. His hair was still rumpled from sleep, face red and pinched with concern. “I guess…” Julian trailed off. He shook his head. 

“Go on,” Wyatt murmured, looking earnest in a way that made Julian feel sick.

“... You know now,” Julian sucked in a breath through his teeth, traced the ridges of the cold glass with his fingertips. 

“Know what?”

Julian stared at him for a moment. He didn’t know how to answer, but he contemplated words anyway, it didn’t matter what he said anymore. “That I’m… _sick,”_ It came out halting and uneven, but he’d said it and that was victory enough right now. If he wasn’t so numb and exhausted he might not have been able to speak at all. 

“... Um, night terrors, right?” Wyatt sat on the couch across from him, smoothing his palms over his thighs. “Henri told me you get ‘em real bad. I uh… didn’t know, but like…” He took a big breath, letting it out in one go.

“Yeah,” Julian’s voice had a raspy edge, not wistful but bitter. “I hear things sometimes, when I’m… panicking,” He clenched his jaw for a second, but pressed forward. He felt messy, incomplete, falling apart and putting himself back together again to the best of his ability. On good days, he was sure he was an entire person- but some days he was sure he was missing pieces but he never knew what they were. He took another drink of water.

Wyatt’s brow furrowed as he thought. “That’s rough, I’m sorry…” Julian stared up at him, and Wyatt squirmed and then continued, “I think you overheard Henri n’ I one time, and I think you might have got the wrong idea,” It came out in a rush, like he’d been holding it in too long.

Julian’s stomach gave a half-hearted flutter of anxiety, but he didn’t say anything. 

“When I asked him why you guys shared a room, he said there was nothin’ going on, that it just worked out better that way. The only reason I asked is ‘cause I wanted to make sure you were okay- but I think it’s… Y’know, best for the both of you, ‘cause I don’t want you having to go through that ever again if we can help it,” 

He said _we,_ Julian realized slowly.

Sometimes the truth snuck up on you when you weren’t expecting it. Julian had always been skeptical of people since he was young (and he still was young). Wyatt had said we, as if he was still here and planning to stay here, but that hadn’t ever happened before. Julian watched him for a few quiet moments and realized; _no,_ it had happened once. Henri hadn’t left. 

Sometimes, Julian didn’t think he was real. When he was missing too many pieces, it was hard to remember what being a person felt like, but Henri never treated him differently on those days. Wyatt didn’t treat him differently now, other than being a bit shaken. The crescent marks on the back of Wyatt’s palms, left by Julian’s fingernails, were real. His own hands clasped the glass of water as he tried to make sense of it all, but all his thoughts were scattered to the wind. 

"... I can stay in the bedroom?” Julian finally asked.

_“Dude,”_ Wyatt laughed, but it was thin and anxious. “You can stay anywhere if it stops that from happening. That was fuckin’ terrifying, I can’t imagine…” He trailed off again. 

Julian didn’t know if he felt relief yet, because he’d learned so well to never trust it right away. But his body settled. His heart slowed more now, the trembling in his hands began to decline, he swallowed again and took another drink of water. “Thanks,” He finally said after a few long moments of silence. 

“Don’t thank me, I-” 

"No,” Julian settled his gaze on Wyatt, over his rumpled hair to his concerned face, and shook his head a little. “You didn’t have to stay. You didn’t have to live here.” 

“I know,” Wyatt waved a hand dismissively, “I wanted to,” 

Julian didn’t reply. He didn’t know how to address the warmth that slowly seeped through him, so he didn’t. Wyatt leaned back onto the couch and let out a long sigh. “Yeah,” Julian murmured in response, peeking at Wyatt from his half-open eyes.

“Are you gonna be able to get more sleep?” Wyatt asked. 

“Maybe,” Julian looked past him into the hall, and he seemed to get the idea. 

Wyatt stood, stretched, and rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m gonna try to get more sleep, and you should too, in an actual bed for once,” Julian stood too and wandered past Wyatt as he started down the stairs to his own room. For a moment he wanted to say something more, but he couldn’t align the words before he heard Wyatt’s door close.

Instead, he trailed down the hall and cautiously opened the bedroom door. It was empty, the bed was unmade and the window was left partially open, letting in cold spring night air; the screen had been taken off and left leaning up against the wall inside. A way back in. Julian recognized the signs. Henri was out somewhere, getting someone’s attention, making some money at his own expense. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d be in anxious knots, feeling his skin crawl as he waited for Henri to come back in one piece, dulled but never broken. Instead, he pulled the covers back some more and tucked into them, grateful for the lack of wood framing digging into his back. 

Sleeping again was always difficult, when he knew what was waiting for him the moment he caved in. As he waited for Henri to come home, Julian tried to rehearse how he was going to tell him what happened. He knew Henri wasn’t going to be scared off, and with Wyatt’s reaction, he quietly allowed a small part of him to believe Wyatt might stay too. As he did, he realized slowly that the same part of him _wanted_ Wyatt to stay. The future for all three of them was still uncertain, but it was a future he pictured with all of them, and he wasn’t sure when that had changed.

He stared up at the ceiling, (tracing slow circles around his thoughts) until he heard distant footsteps outside, followed by scrambling and panting. Julian sat up, tossing the covers back as he faced the window again and watched Henri climb through, and when he tilted up his face, two things happened simultaneously: 

Henri shakily said, “Oh hey, Julian-” and Julian felt a thought he’d been punched in the gut. 

Henri’s face was covered in blood.


	13. i can promise you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i'll fight to my last breath," 
> 
> Henri's last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: depictions of violence, vague depictions of sexual assault of a minor, ACTUAL DUMB BOYS COMMUNICATING.
> 
> One more chapter and the first installment of their story is done.  
> It feels surreal.

When Henri woke up, the effects of the weed had gone, and Julian’s shoulder jutted against his rib cage. He leaned away slowly at first, aching from where the shoulder in question had been, and after a few moments of blearily staring at the idle Netflix on screen, he stood. Wyatt had disappeared, likely gone to bed not long after the both of them had fallen asleep, and Henri wondered whether or not he should wake Julian up. He’d crossed the living room halfway now, and paused to look over his shoulder. 

Julian hadn’t woken up, but he had moved down onto his side, head rested on the arm of the couch. If he was finally sleeping, Henri didn’t want to wake him. He enjoyed having Wyatt around immensely, but he sometimes felt like the time he and Julian liked to spend together had minimized. The hours they spent in comfortable silence when they’d first gotten this drafty house were important to him. It meant they were both safe, and that Julian was about as okay as he could be- now he wasn’t sure Julian was okay at all. 

As he walked towards the bedroom, he danced uncomfortably around _knowing._ Henri knew lots of things, but that didn’t make any of them easy to swallow. He knew Julian was struggling, and he knew he was struggling, and he knew Wyatt knew _both_ of them were struggling. It was a fucking mess that he didn’t want to look at. He shut the bedroom door as quietly as he could behind himself and rubbed his face with both hands, as if to detach the thoughts.

He considered thumbing through the bills hidden in the top drawer, but he didn’t need to open it and go through the motion to recall the exact amount of money that was there. When the urge came, it was almost impossible not to give in, and Henri was never really good at ignoring impulses, so he relented. There was no more money there than the last time he’d checked, miraculously. He was so good at going in circles; when was he going to move forward?

Henri laid back in bed and thought about how he’d told both Wyatt and Julian that he’d stop. He questioned why he still wanted to go out, even when he hated doing it, even when he’d rather endure all of John’s berating and work until he dropped, or get a second job and make money some other legal way that didn’t sacrifice parts of himself. Yet here he was, staring at his ceiling, worrying at the blankets with anxious hands, thinking about who he could text and how much he could ask for. 

He got up, re-dressed, popped the screen out of the window and climbed onto the slanted roof, supposing that at least he wouldn’t be alone with himself. 

It didn’t take him long to find someone who wanted his company. There was a guy Isaac told him about, said he was a little testy, but paid well as long as you were timely about getting there and timely about leaving after. Henri was fine with that, he didn’t want to linger anyway. He walked, because Wyatt was nervous about Henri driving without a license (which was fair, he’d been incredibly lucky that no one had caught him before) and as he went he found himself transitioning into the persona he’d cultivated.

In mere steps, his eyes were low-lidded, hips swaying more than they usually did, mind slowly drifting further from himself, as if it was a different person that he was watching walk up the apartment steps now. When had he gotten here? _Ah,_ those were questions he shouldn’t ask. It was a good thing when he started to feel not himself. 

The hallway was shabby, dim silvery lights along the water stained ceiling, the large man shifting in front of him as he was led. The moment he stepped into the apartment, the man- Victor, he was pretty sure the name was- was on him anyway. Henri tried not to vomit and tried not to exist. 

They tangled against the door, Victor growling low words against his neck and jaw, and then down the hallway. Henri floated along, letting his hoodie be pulled off of him, and his skin touched- the apathy had set in now. It was only the high-pitched dinging of his phone that actually permeated his mind; the man’s words had long since dissolved before they actually reached him (he was good at responding with what they wanted to hear while being too far to hear himself speak.)

He weaseled into the bathroom, saying something about prepping, and Victor let him go but only after twisting his wrist so hard that pain pulled Henri even closer to himself again. When he shut the bathroom door, he took a moment just to breathe. But that was dangerous too, because what if he got too close to himself again and realized what was happening in the _right here, right now_ kind of way? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shoved down the panicked thoughts, and re-opened them.

The apartment was old, built in the seventies or so, and the wallpaper and flooring hadn’t much changed. It was peeling in places, and there was a certain layer of dust or dirt along everything, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Henri had seen in his time. He pulled his phone from his pocket with one trembling hand.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. Henri was never really aware of how far away he was until he was trying to focus on anything at all, and now, reading his texts, he came back to himself like he’d been hit by a car: 

_‘hey man, where are you??? Julian’s freaking out’_  
_‘dude i don’t know what to do please answer’_  
_‘he’s really losing it henri he doesn’t want to see me’_

Once he processed one word, the rest of them came in a flood. At once he could hear the din of the building around him as if a seal had been broken and the sound rushed in, along with the realization that Julian _needed_ him. Henri stared at his phone for a few more seconds as his nerves began to climb up his spine. Before they could really reach him, he seized the doorknob and stepped back into the apartment. 

Victor was on him in an instant, seemingly hovering right outside the door, and Henri felt a stab of revulsion as he felt the man’s hand under his shirt already- with a jolt, he jutted his palms into Victor’s shoulders and shoved him back as hard as he could. He hit the opposite wall, the dishes rang in the kitchen cupboards from the impact, and Henri felt a stab of fear when he saw nothing but anger on his face. 

“Oh, you like to fight back?” Victor snarled. 

Henri gritted his teeth and he did not think about the race of his heartbeat. He thought about Julian. “I have to go, something came up,”

Victor moved towards him again, and Henri didn’t think, he just swung as hard as he could and felt his fist connect. He scrambled towards the door but felt Victor’s hand snatch the back of his shirt and pull him backwards- and- 

Henri knew he wasn’t going to get away easily. He jutted his elbows back, swung fists in blind fury into Victor’s face and side and writhed like a wild animal to avoid getting pinned. It was violent, fast, dirty- Henri felt his head crack back against the wall once, and then again when Victor’s fist connected- and he drew up his legs to kick, somehow got to his feet, scrabbled at the walls and pushed away from the much larger man. Hands scrabbling up the walls until he was on his feet, hot and wet blood over his mouth, hands leaving smears of it on the door as he pushed it open and burst into the hall. He noticed the red exit sign, fuzzy from this distance, and headed towards it as fast as he could go. 

The cold air cloaked him instantly as he scrambled down the rickety fire escape. He could hear yelling from behind him and knew he hadn’t done enough to keep Victor down, but he was faster, and- and dizzy. The moment his feet hit the cement he sprinted away from the building, taking back alleys and unnecessary turns, anything to keep Victor away from him. 

Finally, Henri stumbled to a halt outside of the bar he’d met Richard at months ago, coughing wetly onto the cement and finding that he’d spat blood across it. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the bloody fingerprints he left on the screen, and called Isaac.

“H-hey,” Henri cleared his throat and spit the moment Isaac picked up.

“Hey Henri- _jesus,_ you sound like shit.” Isaac’s voice came through clear and oddly comforting. He always sounded so fucking confident, something that was work for Henri to cultivate seemed to be natural for Isaac.

Henri reached up to wipe his nose, realizing it was one of the sources of blood. He grabbed up his tee shirt to hold it up to the dribble and spoke, “Don’t go back to Victor,” He took a wet inhale. “He’s- he’s not safe,” 

“Where are you?” Isaac’s voice turned urgent in an instant. Now, in the background, Henri could hear the thump of bassy music that grew louder. 

“I’m- it’s fine, I’m good-” 

“Henri, shut the fuck up, where are you?” The music grew so loud that Henri almost didn’t hear him, and then stopped rather abruptly with the sound of a closing door.

“Uh- the bar-” He pinched his nose with his tee shirt still pulled up. “Breaker’s Pub,” 

“I will be there in two minutes, just hang out by the door.” Before Henri could say anything at all, Isaac had hung up, and he was alone again on the sidewalk. People leaving the bar were giving him looks as they swayed towards their cars, and Henri swore under his breath. Instead of loitering by the door, he ducked around the side of the bar where he’d first talked to Richard. 

It felt like it might have been years ago that he’d been here, or maybe just a handful of days. It had been months now, spring giving way to summer, and so much had changed, but here he was fucked up and he didn't even get paid for it this time. Henri felt sick. He felt like he might cry. He felt like maybe he was going to crack into pieces. He felt like- like there was familiar music coming from the front of the bar. 

Before continuing his tangent or his breakdown, he pushed off the wall and wandered out from the alley only to see a very expensive-looking shiny black car hovering in the parking lot. The neon sign from the bar glistened off it’s hood and roof, and Henri almost ducked back into the alleyway until he heard a high, playful voice call: “Hey! Want a ride?” When he turned back around, the disbelief of seeing Isaac’s bleach-blonde hair as he peeked out of the window almost stopped him entirely. The wide grin on Isaac’s face vanished when he laid eyes on Henri. 

Henri strode around the side of the car and jumped into the passenger side as Isaac turned on the interior light to get a better look at him. “Holy fuck, Henri, what the hell happened?”

“I have to get home,” Henri smoothed his left hand over his thigh, the other holding his tee shirt up to his face. “Julian needs me,” 

“Yeah, okay, where am I taking you?” Isaac turned the car, and when he hit the gas Henri was pushed back by the force of it into his seat, all at once thankful for the speed at which Isaac whipped out of the parking lot and down the road. “Also, don’t bleed on my car,” 

“Brackley street, at the very end,” Henri mumbled, “this thing is fucking expensive, Isaac,” 

Henri could see the grin cutting across Isaac’s handsome face, even with his shit eyes. “Yeah,” He took a corner fast enough that Henri pressed against the passenger door. “So like I said, don’t bleed on it.”

In a few minutes, they arrived at Brackley, and Henri thanked Isaac as he jumped out of the car. He wanted to get into his room first, just long enough to wipe some of the blood off on something so he wouldn’t look like such a disaster. Henri knew he’d get questions. He could see Wyatt’s face now and it made his stomach writhe as he clambered up the side of the building, the roar of Isaac’s engine at his back, and hooked his hands onto the window he’d left open. With one shaky heave, he pulled himself up and climbed in- but when he looked up, all he saw was-

“Oh, hey Julian-” He stepped fully into the room, and still felt the blood dripping down his chin. Julian’s eyes were wide and bloodshot from crying, face red, lips parted in a soft inhale. Henri’s heart squeezed so hard he thought it might stop beating for a moment. 

“What happened?” Julian asked.

“A client,” Henri muttered back, breath tearing from his lungs from the climbing. Before he could say anything else, Julian turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Henri stood there for a few seconds, panting a little, and felt it all catch up to him. His shirt was covered in blood from trying to stop his nosebleed, and spattered from when he’d been hit, and it was too much- he pulled it off and sat down on the bed when his legs became too shaky to stand. The door opened quietly and Julian returned, this time with a roll of paper towel and a glass of water.

He watched as Julian sat next to him, and turned his head obediently, trying to conceal his quick breaths. “The guy didn’t want me to leave,” Henri mumbled. Julian didn’t reply. Instead, he started gently dabbing under Henri’s nose, over his mouth and chin with the damp paper towel. “Just- just got angry. I almost, uh…” He trailed off, gulped down what blood had been in his mouth, “almost didn’t get away,” He tried to pretend his voice didn’t crack on _‘away.’_

Julian paused in his careful ministrations and stared at him for a few silent moments. “I screamed and woke up Wyatt,” He confessed. Henri exhaled shakily, Julian dabbed under his nose again. “Had a full meltdown.”

“I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t,” Julian cut him off, and even though his voice was paper thin, it was enough. Henri’s knee was bouncing. _If he had been here, if he hadn't gone out, none of this would have happened-_ “He’s not mad. He was just… worried,” Henri watched him switch to a not-bloody piece and continue down his neck, trying to hold as still as possible. “He says he doesn’t mind if we share a room,”

“Really?” Henri responded. “I thought-” Julian paused again to give him space to speak, but Henri just shook his head, “I don’t know,”

“Me too,” Julian replied. There was a few moments’ silence as Julian continued to dab and wipe at Henri’s bloody skin, careful not to press at the rapidly swelling bruises. Then he sucked in a breath and said, “Do you want me to stay with you?” 

“Of course,” Henri cleared his throat. “Yeah, I really do,” 

There was a second’s pause, and then Julian dropped the paper towel and hugged Henri instead. It was so simple to hug Julian; his arms around thin shoulders. He remembered every bone and how it’d felt the first time, when Julian had been heaving coughs in the backseat of his car, feeble and scared. There may as well have been an earthquake inside him. Henri thought every hug they’d shared over the past few months didn’t compare to this one, though, when he noticed Julian’s shoulder blades weren’t quite as sharp anymore. Relief bloomed in his chest and wound through his rib cage like the weeds out in their back yard, not noticing they were growing until they were there and covering every inch of the place.

Why had he ever thought he couldn’t just speak to Julian?

“Don’t do this again,” Julian mumbled into his shoulder. “Don’t go out anymore,” 

A fissure of anxiety shot through Henri’s body, from his head down through his chest and stomach. He felt feathery and weak, it was a lot to ask of him. But Julian knew that, didn’t he? When he didn’t respond, Julian withdrew enough to look at him. Henri could see the bags under his eyes and how the exhaustion had painted him differently, healthier than he was when Henri found him, but with the same hollow look. Henri himself probably looked worse now, with the fucking bruises and the blood, and God, he was just so _tired,_ and Julian-

Julian was looking at him so hopefully. 

“I won’t,” Henri said, and it wasn’t a lie. "and I won't... not talk to you again," He swallowed thickly. "We can't do that again- just not talk to each other. I want you to tell me everything you want to tell me, okay?" 

He'd never ask Julian not to have secrets. Henri had secrets even he didn't know about, he was sure, and Julian was a mystery in every single way that didn't matter to Henri anymore. He _knew_ Julian, and he wanted Julian to know that anything he wanted to say could be said freely. Henri wanted Julian to tell him about dumb things he liked, or deep things, or old wounds- anything he wanted, ever.

Julian let out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it in since they met. “Okay,” He murmured. "... I'm tired,"

“Me too,” Henri kicked off his shoes and reclined back in the bed as the ache in his face wrapped thickly around his skull. He encircled Julian with one arm and laid the other over his eyes. Tomorrow, he’d have to face Wyatt, and tomorrow he would explain what happened, and tomorrow he would never go out again. Tonight, however, all he had to do was sleep.

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the weight of Julian’s head on his collarbone, and then the hot sunlight that spilled over them from the window he’d never properly closed the previous night. The air that drifted through was already warm. He reached blindly for his phone on the bedside table: 11:32 AM, and he had missed texts from Isaac. 

_‘I’m so sorry about him. I’m glad you’re okay. My passenger seat has your name on it, joyride with me sometime?’_

Henri texted back: _‘Dw about it. I’ll hold you to that.’_ And he slowly edged himself out from under Julian, who nestled his face into the pillow instead and remained blissfully asleep. He was still in his jeans from last night, but he scarcely noticed as he slid from bedroom to kitchen blearily. One eye was swollen mostly shut, which turned his abysmal vision even shittier, and his whole face ached every time he changed his expression. Absently, he grabbed a mug out of the sink and began to rinse it. Behind him, he heard Wyatt shift in the living room and braced himself for the questions to come.

“Heya Henri, uh, you really worried me last night, man,” Wyatt’s voice was gentle, but Henri still felt himself tense. Slowly, he turned from the sink to face his friend in the doorway of the kitchen and watched Wyatt’s face go pale as he stilled. “Oh shit,” 

“Yeah,” Henri clenched his jaw, “he didn’t like me leaving. It’s fine, I’m alright,”

“Henri-”

“I’m done, Wy,” When Henri said it, he didn’t expect the tenuous relief that struck him. Wyatt seemed to soften as he stepped into the kitchen and got a better look at the bruising. “I mean it this time. Julian asked me to stop last night.”

After a few moments of inspection, Wyatt stood upright again and began to unceremoniously brew some coffee. Henri was awash with sudden appreciation that he didn’t know what to do with, so he stood still and considered how well Wyatt fit in there, thick hands fiddling with the uncooperative coffee machine, sun bleached hair blending with the cabinets as if he’d always been a part of this place, even when he wasn’t here. “I’m real happy for you,” He said, and then he looked up sheepishly, as if the affection might scare Henri off. 

If it had been a few months ago, it would have. Instead, Henri crossed the space between them and pulled Wyatt into a hug that his friend returned just as fiercely. “I’m happy too, big guy,” 

“... Can I use this as an excuse to make a cake?” Wyatt’s voice was muffled by Henri’s hair.

“Oh my _God,_ yeah, I could use a cake,” Henri pulled back and grinned, which made them both wince- Wyatt sympathetically, Henri honestly. 

The bedroom door opened and Henri turned to see Julian stepping sleepily out of it, lit from the back with sun, smiling just the slightest bit. “Mornin’, Julian,” Wyatt said cheerily as the coffee machine began to gurgle and drip begrudgingly. 

“Wyatt’s gonna make a cake,” Henri reached out and ruffled Julian’s hair, pulling his head close into a rough hug. 

“We need a cake,” Julian said, albeit muffled as he wrestled free, with a sort of sage wisdom that made Henri laugh. 

Wyatt did make a cake that night- or rather, they all did. He didn’t buy a box mix like Henri thought he would, but rather they made a two-tier chocolate cake from scratch, which in hindsight seemed obvious. Wyatt directed Julian and Henri from mixing batter to making icing with the baking goods Henri had initially balked at Wyatt buying. “Baking is a family thing,” He said knowledgeably, “Cooking? You gotta stay outta my way, man, that’s all it is. But baking’s for family,” Henri listened and followed Wyatt’s approximations for ingredients, he and Julian stole fingerfuls of batter while Wyatt’s back was turned, and Henri’s face hurt so damn bad from how much he was smiling but he could not find it in him to stop.


End file.
